


Kyrie Eleison

by sleazyjanet



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fleabag (TV) Fusion, Angst, F/M, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Some Humor, Some Plot, sergio is a priest, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleazyjanet/pseuds/sleazyjanet
Summary: At a family dinner during which her mother announces her engagement and soon-to-come wedding, Raquel meets a... priest. And some punches are thrown.orSerquel in a Fleabag AU because I am horny like PWB.
Relationships: Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 93
Kudos: 195





	1. Engagement Dinner

* * *

Blood was everywhere. Despite Raquel's efforts, which weren't exactly big, she could see, through the mirror that hung right before her, that there was no way to stop the flow.

It dripped down her nose and into her mouth and below it, down her chin and into the fashionable cut of her black pantsuit. The hand that tried to stop it somehow, holding onto a wet towel, bore bruises and was torn to show blood, too. 

She gave up on cleaning it all up briefly, turning to the small woman crouched next to her to pass her the wet towel, too. 

The woman nodded tearfully. Blood was streaming down her nose, too. 

Raquel sighed. Fixing her gaze onto the mirror, deep into her own eyes, she cleared up her blood and prayed that there wouldn't be more dripping down so soon. Not until she was home and she could lie down and use some ice, is all. 

It was then that someone knocked on the door and a manly voice spoke through. "They've all left and paid", announced the man. "Your mother didn't want to, but Agustín insisted that you should be left alone, so…"

She chuckled, turning to watch herself in the mirror. 

_This is a love story,_ she announced to no one in particular. 

  


* * *

  
  
  
A party of over ten people at a small enough restaurant on a Friday would not have been Raquel's own favorite choice of spending her evening, but here she was: vaguely ignoring the one iceberg sat on one of her sides and curiously ogling the hot stranger sitting on the other. 

Out of all of the family members and acquainted, well, acquaintances (some missing, blank spots on the table left for them) he was the only one she didn't know yet and it irked her. 

He had refined cheeks and a neatly trimmed beard and although he held himself stoically, there was a certain aura of knowledge and power around him, too. 

Raquel was dying to hear the reason this stranger was here, or why he'd been seated next to her instead of anyone else. From the way Silene ogled him she presumed there was at least one woman wishing to rip his neat clothes off as much as herself. 

_Silene was_ —. 

Her mother's voice interrupted her brief introduction. She held a glass of champagne up and smiled warily. "We're, uh," stumbled the woman, looking for the right words in the fistful of paper she was crumbling, her eyes practically glued to it to avoid contact with the others. "Although we should wait Julia and, and your brother Benjamín, shouldn't we?" 

Silene tsked, waving her phone in the air. "Not coming. Dad says his car broke down and Julia is calling quits," the young woman shrugged. 

_Nah_ , Raquel knew the other reason Julia wasn't coming. Not that it mattered. 

"Right," said Mariví. "So, we're, uh, here to," she sighed and flopped back down on her seat. 

_Oh_ , Raquel thought, _this is going to be good_. You see, her mother rarely got caught in her emotions, or struggled with words. The opposite, if anything. 

And here she was, glancing uncertainly at Agustín Ramos, _her boyfriend of, what? two years? Lovely man_ , Raquel assured, grinning to no one in particular. _His only flaw, really, is being a former thief and being related to the worst of people._

The man understood his girlfriend's problem and grabbed a glass for himself as well and, standing up to appear barely taller than before, announced, "We're getting married!"

 _No_. Raquel frowned, glancing around the table to see if she was hearing it right. Unfortunately, everyone appeared as flabbergasted, not having been in the know, apart from, possibly, the stranger sitting beside her who, adjusting his glasses on his nose, nodded knowingly. 

He knew about the engagement? Now she was further intrigued. 

"Hold up," Daniel — _Agustín's only son, rather dumb and definitely prone to violence but it's all well ignored because he can be sweet to kids and has never been in jail for longer than a week anyway, so who cares?_ — raised a finger. "This is an _engagement_ party, then?" 

Raquel groaned at his words, oddly enough echoed by Silene as well. 

Daniel wasn't over yet. "When are you getting married?" 

Agustín looked down bashfully. "In two weeks." 

That worked well enough to set the entire table into motion, all of them equal parts angered by how late they had been notified and angered by the engagement party itself. 

"Well," Mónica stood, a glass of champagne somehow having found its way in her hand, "congratulations to you both! May you be happy!" 

Daniel laughed, although his laughter could be barely called such, raising a glass as well. "Congrats! At least this last minute engagement party has great champagne." 

_An engagement party_ , Raquel groaned internally. 

It was a fucking engagement party, the one they had been invited to. She had been invited to. Invited being a kind choice of words, of course, if one considered the circumstances of both the engagement and her last meeting with Agustín which had ended not particularly well. 

The couple was lovely, and she didn't exactly have a bad relationship with Agustín — _albeit being a former convict the man had lovely tableside manners and a good type of humor_ — but she had accidentally called his niece irresponsible for dating a man over ten years younger than her and that had not fared well with the otherwise kind man. 

Not that he disagreed. Raquel could always predict Agustín's exact reactions to Silene's burly behavior, but he was very protective of his family. 

Then there was the story of the engagement itself, sprung on her and everyone else, as it appeared, only two weeks before the wedding.

And it would still have been okay. Watching Silene glare at her from across the table as her hand stroked her very young boyfriend's cheek, was okay. Even Agustín's confused rambling would be okay. 

Being forcibly seated, however, next to Alberto, whose restraining order apparently didn't apply to family dinners, her sister across the table from her not even daring to look at her, let alone speak to her, _was not_. At least Paula was at home, with her babysitter. 

And the stranger seated on the other side of her was also confusing her. Why was he not surprised by anything? Why was he so impossibly stoic? 

And, more importantly, why the _fuck_ was he here, at an engagement party? 

"Mónica, dear," her mother interrupted her thoughts, "can you tell me how you and Daniel met, then?" 

They'd already recounted the story of their meeting. As well as the story of how, despite not being the baby's biological father, Daniel had adopted Mónica's son. And even the story of how they decided to name the baby Cincinnati. 

But her mother couldn't remember. 

And that was the core issue. For another time, perhaps, as Raquel herself got lost in the recounting of the lovely story. 

_Lovely_.

"I fell in love with him the moment he saved me from that maniac," Mónica admitted, referring to the renowned Andrés de Fonollosa, whose name she didn't need to utter for the entire table to understand. "He had wanted to kill me for I had interrupted some kind of heist of his, on stupid diamonds." 

Daniel laughed. "And I smashed his face to pieces. Got me a week in jail for violence before she paid my bail."

"My boss, you see," continued Mónica with a cheeky grin. "Cinci's biological father, was a creep but very rich. He didn't want to take care of the child because he already had three with his wife. And the store that maniac had tried to rob was his so…" 

"I'm not proud of using some guy's diamonds to be free, but hey, I am here now." 

Mónica rolled her eyes. "Still causing trouble occasionally, but at least I'm safe from that creep. Those two creeps." 

After half an hour of bickering and softly staring at each other, which then proceeded into Silene flaunting her young and smart boyfriend in front of everyone, telling about his knowledge of computers and even Laura, her sister, chiming in to comment on Mariví's beautiful earrings, Raquel grew restless. 

Anywhere would be better than having Alberto so near her, breathing as loudly as he did, sneering and jeering. Making a point not to look at her, as if everything that had gone wrong the year prior was _her_ fault. 

She was not wanted here at all and the realization struck a string in her heart, her eyes casting down to look at the empty plate. At home, Paula would laugh with her; here, if anything, people would laugh _at_ her. 

No one was asking her questions, no one was at all _looking_ at—. 

"What do you do?" 

The question, offered by the stranger himself, caught her so much off guard that for a moment she simply stared at him, her mouth agape. Was he actually asking _her_? 

The gang stopped all their conversations to watch, too, clearly intrigued that the stranger's first words were directed at her. 

"You, uh," he stuttered, "I admit, I don't know your name." 

"Raquel," she answered absentmindedly.

"Raquel, what do you do?" 

She pursed her lips, eyeing him warily. Though she found no sneer in his eyes, she wouldn't put it past Silene or Laura to set her up for a cruel joke. 

She shook her head. He sounded earnest enough and that was all that mattered. 

"I used to be a cop, but after," _no, I won't say it in front everyone,_ "after," _no, that's wrong, and I don't want to stir up trouble,_ "a rough divorce," she simplified it, sure, "I decided to change profession. Now I'm but a shrink." 

The professor-like man arched his thick eyebrows with a tilt of his head. " _Inspectora_ , then? Seems to fit you." 

" _Doctora_ now," she corrected him. 

"Even better," he conceded. "You seem to have the eyes for a good psychologist." 

"Eyes? I agree that eyes matter, but don't you need more than that, Mr…?" she trailed off. 

"Sergio Marquina," he offered his name as though it were dessert on a silver platter. The name rolled nicely on his tongue. "But you can call me Father." 

"Father? What are you, a priest?" she laughed, the absurdity of the word making her throw her head back in amusement. Perhaps she'd had a drink too many.

He flushed slightly, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously. "Actually, yes, I am." 

The air shifted. 

A priest? Both she and Silene pulled their eyebrows together, staring at him fixedly. 

A _hot_ priest, he was, with his fluffy hair and his nervous smile and large shoulders, but a priest nonetheless. God, she wanted to pull at his stupid, forbidden tie—. 

Mariví cleared her throat. "Yes," she said, "he's a priest. Our priest. He'll be conducting our ceremony and, well, we figured we should invite him here, to introduce him to all of you because oh, he's a delight, isn't he, my love?" 

"Quite so," admitted Agustín, nodding into his refilled glass of wine. 

Nobody dared reply, too enraptured by the revelation to think clearly. It was as though a veil had suddenly covered them and where a few moments ago there were drunk looks and glasses refilled, now everyone appeared sober, choosing water as their preferred beverage.

It was Mónica who spoke up after a few beats. "Should you be here at all? Is it allowed for a priest to fraternize with the faithful?"

"Well, no," he repeated the tic with his glasses, bringing Raquel's attention up to his brown eyes. _So shy,_ the Father. He probably hated situations like these. Put on the spot, he was not in his element. It felt almost surreal that a man so shy could also speak to hundreds in church. "But I am rather new in Madrid — I lived so long in Barcelona, you see. And I was urged to get to meet my faithful; I couldn't help but take this opportunity to do just that."

Raquel couldn't help but laugh. " _Faithful_ is a strong word, Father. Some of us barely practice."

The priest frowned. "Faith isn't about practicing. You don't need to be a constant churchgoer to be truly faithful, or to prove yourself. I believe it is about the fondness we feel for God. Or, better yet, it's about the hope that we carry on in our hearts, carrying faith for a better future. For God is in that, in that act of faith."

"Shouldn't you, as a priest, be telling me to go to church?"

He laughed softly. "I cannot force anyone, Raquel."

"But you should definitely try to at least persuade me," she argued. Then she wiggled her eyebrows provocatively, marveling in the way he squirmed, and added, "Unless you're using reverse psychology on me. In which case, I'll have you know I am very resistant to it, Father."

Sergio shook his head, a smile on his lips. "Fuck, you caught me."

 _Fuck_? Did she hear that right?

Everyone else paused as well. If they were absorbed in their conversation before, now they couldn't tear their eyes away for the world. Even Laura showed enough interest, though her thumb still caressed Alberto's, making Raquel's stomach turn.

"Fuck, sorry," he amended, then put a hand to his mouth when he realized his double strike. "Okay, yes, I swear."

Silene hummed approvingly. "I like that in a priest," she said, not even hiding the way her eyes trailed appreciatively across his chest and down below to places she could only imagine.

"I am a priest that swears," he sighed.

Daniel grinned. "And you don't wear that–that thingy. You know the one. The collar thingy."

 _That's true_ , Raquel thought, _the priest forgot to lend his God a collar for the leash_.

Curiously, she watched the man not falter at all at that question. "Yes. I don't need to wear it all the time. At least, I am not struck by God's fury if I don't, or else I would have been long dead by now, wouldn't I?"

Raquel laughed loudly, imagining God as she would Zeus, a lightning bolt thrown at the squirming priest.

It was the sound of her laughter that managed to bring him back to their earlier conversation which he continued immediately, a smile once again grazing his lips and eyes, "But, to go back to what we were saying, Raquel, I believe you have faith. Some have it in themselves, or in their loves ones, or in their psychology as you do — and I have it in God. So we are all faithful. It's simple as that."

The tenderness in his voice, the way he spoke as though he believed it with his entire heart, made her falter for a second. He watched with intent, his warm eyes expecting something, but there was nothing she could think of saying. 

"Love the Catholics," said Silene, turning the attention back to herself. "With unclear laws and all. You can get away with anything. Many Catholics do."

Raquel took that as a perfect moment to excuse herself from the table.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Just a cigarette, that was all she had needed. 

She was already exhausted of them, tired of their stupid conversations and their lack of interest in her. Though she was used to being sidelined and used to fighting to stand in the front lines, she wasn't in the mood of doing it with her family. 

She laid her head on the rough wall and sighed. Smoke filled her lungs, spreading warmth in her heart, and soul. But it wasn't enough to bring her peace. 

Alberto's proximity was not doing well for her nerves, nor was the rest of the family, really. They weren't bad people per se: Mónica was sweet, Daniel was funny and Agustín was warm and kind – and then there was Laura. 

Laura, who avoided her gaze and who thought the world of Alberto and who still hadn't forgiven her for the restraining order that she'd decided to put on her ex-husband. 

But she'd done it for Paula, only for Paula. 

The thought of the girl incited her to find her phone and dial Ágata's number. Within seconds, the woman responded, "Raquel? You want to talk to Paulita here?" 

She nodded, then berated herself when she realized Ágata couldn't see her. "Yes, thank you," she said. 

"Mami?" said Paula on the other end just a few moments later, her voice soft and tired. "Ágata was just reading me a bedtime story." 

Raquel huffed out a puff of smoke, pinching the bridge of her nose. She should have realized it was too late to call. She forced a smile, one that she hoped could be heard through the phone, and asked, "Which one, dear?" 

That got Paula going. For about five minutes, as Raquel finished her cigarette, the girl chatted about, excitement clear even through the phone. 

Raquel smiled, closing her eyes. When Paula spoke, she could forget Alberto, and this engagement, and the family. 

All was well. 

A cough burst her bubble. 

"Talking on the phone to avoid a social interaction? That seems more like something I would do," the priest said with a weak smile on his lips. The light from the hallway illuminated him from behind to form a halo. 

Raquel couldn't help a laugh as she rolled her eyes. Ignoring him, she spoke to her excited daughter, "Honey, I must leave you to Ágata now. Please don't stay up too late now that I've woken you up entirely." 

The girl promised not to. _She surely held her fingers crossed_ , _though_ , as she was wont to do. _And fingers crossed mean a lie_. 

Only then did she end the call and turn to the rather embarrassed now priest. She offered him a grin and a cigarette. "Are you a smoker, Father?" 

"Not strictly," he shook his head, although his long fingers grabbed at the cigarette nonetheless. He stood near her. "How old is your daughter?" 

Raquel arched an eyebrow. "Almost seven." 

"Light me?" Sergio nudged at the cigarette now in his mouth and she stepped closer. His hands cupped her own as the flames lit up the cig. She looked into his eyes briefly, locked into his warm gaze, then stepped away, feeling a warmth that couldn't only be coming from the flames. "Who's the father?" 

Albeit innocent, the question was a slap to her face. She let her shoulder bump into his harshly as she walked off without another word, his cigarette flying to the floor. 

The priest scoffed, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Well, fuck you, then." 

Raquel turned to him in surprise, a small smile gracing her lips. He looked back at her with a smile of his own. 

She walked away confused. For the world she couldn't explain why a priest swearing felt so wrong and yet so right. 

She shook her head. 

The universe didn't allow her fully back in as her mother called out after her in earnest from across the hallway where she was standing near the toilets.

"Mami?" she asked, closing the distance between them. She laid a hand on her mother's shoulder, drawing soothing circles. "Have you had too much drink? 

Mariví chuckled. "Ay, don't fret, my dear. No," she said with absolute certainty, "I am sober. But, oh, dear, Raquel, I was looking for you!" 

"You were?" 

She hummed. "I have a gift for you, love!" 

_A gift?_ "A gift? Mom, why would you give me anything right now?" 

Mariví scoffed, waving her hand before Raquel's face. "For your birthday, love. I forgot to wish you a happy birthday, but now I must!" 

_It's not my birthday_. 

Raquel allowed herself only a moment of shock before she caressed the older woman's cheek and nodded vigorously. "Of course, mami. What is it?" 

It was an envelope, long enough to contain money but thin enough not to arise suspicious. "Oh, don't open it here, I don't want Laura to get jealous. You know how she gets on your birthdays – always rather childish, and I shouldn't say that about my own daughter, but she doesn't take well not being in the center of attention, does she?" 

Raquel widened her eyes. "Mami, don't say that." Though feeling rather lightheaded at the thought of her mother having a bigger fondness for her, she didn't like pitting people against each other. "I hope you don't say these things to Paula." 

"Paula?" Mariví frowned, then laughed, shaking her head. "Paula, of course. No, no, I would never. Oh, she's a sweet child, Paula. She always comes to Mass with me."

"I know, mami. Let's get you back to the table." _And I'll make sure she doesn't drink more_ , she added to no one in particular.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The food had already arrived, but the priest hadn't. When Daniel tried cutting his food, Mónica touched his shoulder and shook her head, reminding him that they should wait for Sergio.

Silene, on the other hand, simply cut into the meat and ate. 

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," said Agustín. 

"I bet he has it hard," Daniel mused, finding it hard for himself not to cut into his meat. "Not being to able to masturbate and all. Fucked up life he chose, don't you think?" 

Raquel rolled her eyes. "It's a calling." _A dumb calling, if you ask me._

"Well, it's dumb," said Daniel firmly. "Fucked up not be able to touch yourself." 

Silene hummed in agreement. "Absolutely is, cuz. Just imagine—." 

Sergio sitting down next to Raquel interrupted her speech. The man excused himself for his tardiness instantly, "My brother called me for some issues he was having in the house," he explained. Upon seeing everyone's curiosity sparking up, he elaborated. "The toilet's broken."

Agustín lit up. "I could help. Or my brother, Benjamín, could. We could even do it for free, for you, Father." 

Sergio waved his hands. "I wouldn't let you do it for free, no!" he shook his head vigorously. "No, I will pay you. But you would be truly saving me. My brother can be such a bother sometimes." 

"I think I have some houses to go to tomorrow, but I am sure Benjamín will be free, won't he, Silene?" 

Silene, who hadn't been paying much attention, hummed. "Sure, yeah."

"What does your brother do, Father?" asked Mariví then, smiling. 

_Probably a thief, given Father's face,_ Raquel laughed. 

"He was imprisoned for theft and armed assault a few years ago and he's out on parole now," admitted Sergio. 

Raquel gaped. 

"At least he's not a sex offender," joked Ánibal, Silene's young and _very_ immature boyfriend. 

"Not a sex offender, no," amended the priest. He pushed his glasses up his nose embarrassedly and looked to the side, at Raquel who offered him a soft smile. "But he has been married and divorced five times." 

"Five?" Raquel widened her eyes. "After the first four failed marriages did he not realize a problem?" 

The priest laughed. "Maybe you should have been there to tell him that, because he surely wouldn't listen to me. Although knowing him, he'd only have persuaded you to become wife number five instead." 

Raquel scoffed.

"He sounds like a real cracker." 

"Most women think so," he admitted. 

It was then that a glint flickered in Silene's eyes, who laid back on her chair and, with one arm around Ánibal's shoulder protectively, asked, "And you? Have you had many women, Father?" 

_You can always trust Silene to talk about sex_ , Raquel sighed to no one in particular. _And I, personally, don't care if he has, of course._

She batted her eyelashes. 

_I really don't._

She watched him expectantly as he stammered. 

_I don't._

"I have," he paused, "had some… relations. Before I became a priest. But it is rather personal to ask, because, well—."

"Are you gay?" Silene grinned.

Raquel couldn't deny that she also cared for the answer. 

"No, no. I've had relations with women. With _women_. Not many, I admit, but… some. None too serious, I am afraid." Upon hearing Daniel's laughter, he hurriedly added, "I haven't been with prostitutes, don't misunderstand me."

Raquel couldn't stop herself. "Men who abuse their power and use women for sex, whether with money or not, can rot in hell, can't they, Father?" 

The priest repeated his tic again. "Yes, I do believe so. Any man that only, well, _uses_ a woman should confess and repent." 

"Only confess and repent?" she scoffed. "That seems rather unfair. How can you prove they repented?" 

"If they do not, they will be judged by God in the afterlife. Only He can truly tell if we have changed or not." 

Raquel shook her head. "But they still did it. Them repenting doesn't erase the memory from the woman's mind, doesn't change the past."

The priest hummed, tapping his fingers on the table thoughtfully. He fixed his stare on her. "Weren't you a police officer, Raquel? Weren't people punished by earthly rules for their sins?" 

"Barely ever," she spat. "Most women don't come forward. Not to mention that a prostitute will be prosecuted, too, for an offence that she oftentimes was simply coerced into. And the law doesn't really care. That's why, among other things, I left. Because the law doesn't care. Whether a woman is abused, or raped."

Before Sergio could say anything, Ánibal changed the subject. "And is it hard to keep to celibacy now, Father?"

 _Celibacy is when a priest cannot fuck anyone he wishes to._ But God, as she looked at his beard and ruffled hair, she wished that rule wasn't too strict.

"I, uh, no, I was never too active anyway. And I abide to that rule happily, because I only love God now."

Daniel grinned. "In a way, you _are_ gay."

Sergio stammered. "God doesn't have any gender, really. So loving him wouldn't make me homosexual. And I am _not._ Not that being homosexual is wrong, mind you." 

"Most priests would disagree," Raquel noticed. 

"Yes," Sergio couldn't deny that. "But I don't believe it's a sin. The Bible is up to interpretation and as we interpret some verses loosely, I don't believe we ought to apply different methods for this."

"Was it always your calling," wondered Raquel, "to be a priest?" 

"Fuck, no," he laughed. "Don't misunderstand me, it's something everyone thought I'd do ever since I was little. Which was also why I resisted it so long. But once you hit forty and find no other love but God, it's quite the only option to follow. I was raised among nuns and nurses, you see. Not that it was something I did out of desperation. I just realized this was all the love I wanted. I can love everyone else the same, play no favorites and my soul is reserved to only one."

Raquel snorted. She was about to reply cheekily when Laura, anger clear in her voice, gasped and pointed at Raquel's entirely forgotten envelope from mami. 

_Crap._

"What is that?" the younger sister asked accusingly, a finger nearly shoved into plate. She turned to their mother, eyes narrowed. "Mami, why did she get a gift?" 

_My mother doesn't remember anymore_ , Raquel announced as she watched confusion flicker through Mariví’s features. 

Deciding to save her mother any shame, she grabbed at the envelope. "It's a late birthday gift from mami," she said, facing everyone to make it clear that she was not hiding any secrets. "I wouldn't have left it on the table if it were a secret, anyway. But since everyone is _so_ interested it's just," she ripped at the envelope, wildly praying for it to be some money, to shove it into Laura's face. She paused when she looked at the contents of the envelope instead. "An expired ticket to a museum." 

"Expired?" Mariví widened her eyes. "Oh, dear, but I bought it specifically for your birthday date." _True._ "How can it be expired?" 

_My birthday was a month ago_ , Raquel thought, then shook her head. _I can't tell her. I can't._

She watched the woman. 

_I won't._

"They must have gotten it all mixed—." 

"Her birthday was a month ago, mami, don't you know?" 

Raquel cursed her younger sister for coming to this party at all. _She can't keep shut._ Raquel couldn't even look her mother in the eye as the old woman furrowed her brows in confusion and shook her head.

"Oh, yes!" suddenly laughed the old woman. "Silly me," she said. "I must have forgotten I saved it up specifically for your birthday and we hadn't seen each other in so long," _exactly five days ago when mami took Paula to church,_ "and it must have slipped out." 

_Laura will have a say in this._

As expected, Laura shook her head. "No, it's because—," before she could finish, however, she yelped and excused herself to the toilet. Curiosity instantly got the best out of the other women. Raquel would be a liar, though, if she said she didn't wait until Mónica and Silene stood up to follow Laura until she did so as well, but she did.

As they finally reached the toilets, Silene whispered. "God, what could have happened?"

Raquel shrugged. _Mónica will now say 'I have no idea',_ she thought. _Then she'll try to be the one who finds out._

"I have no idea," said Mónica, walking to knock on Laura's toilet door. "Laura, are you in there?"

"Yes," came Laura's muffled answer.

"What's wrong?" The blonde haired woman demanded, glancing at the other two women warily, as if to urge them to help her.

Silene sighed. "Did you get your period?"

A beat passed.

"Yes," said Laura, weakly.

Raquel looked at Mónica pointedly and spoke as softly as she could. "You have pads, don't you?"

Laura heard her voice nonetheless. "Why are _you_ here, bitch?"

Raquel scoffed and as Mónica moved to give Laura a pad, she snatched it away from her and knocked on Laura's door. She motioned for Mónica to speak, the woman obliging immediately, "Hey, open the door so I can give you the pad, will you?"

Reluctantly, Laura unlocked it. Before she could close it back again upon seeing Raquel's face, Silene grabbed it and held it back, baring Laura to all of them.

"Holy shit," Raquel paled, "that's too much blood for a fucking period. What the fuck happened? Is this a–," she choked up on the last word. "Laura, you need to get to a hospital."

"I'm not taking orders from a jealous bitch like you," she spat. "Just give me the fucking pad. If the child didn't want to live, it didn't want to live." 

"That's not—." 

"This must be great for you," Laura continued venomously, "I bet you made sure I couldn't have a baby, huh?"

_What?_

"What?" Silene asked, brows furrowed. "How the fuck would she even do that?"

Though flattered by _Silene_ , of all people, trying to defend her, Raquel laid a hand on her shoulder and shook her head. To Laura, she spoke firmly, "Listen to me."

Laura shook her head. "I won't. You're jealous that I'm with Alberto, because you're not over him. _That's_ why you've said those things about him. And got a fucking restraining order, too, to bring shame on me!" 

"Laura," said Raquel lowly, swallowing down the lump that was growing in her throat. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes but she blinked them away. "I don't care what you believe, but I took that restraining order for _Paula. For Paula._ Your niece. And if you want to have children with an abuser, it seems that I can't stop you, but I would _never_ wish miscarriage on you." When Laura opened her mouth to retort, she huffed and, using her best shrink voice, she said. "This is not about me, this is about you, Laura. Don't you want to be healthy, and to make sure the baby is truly, truly gone?" 

"It _is_ gone," the younger sister assured. "I can feel it. Or rather, _not_ feel it. So there's no _fucking_ point in going. I'm not going to do what you tell me to." 

Raquel sighed. "Push your fucking ego aside, Laura, and put that pad on. And listen to me: if the baby's gone, you could have some complications anyway, therefore you _need_ to get checked. For infections, for anything. So _please_ , please come with me to the hospital."

Laura looked down, as though cracking under Raquel's sisterly care, tears brimming in her eyes as well. "Alberto really wanted a child." _To make up for Paula. What an asshole._ "Don't tell him what happened."

Mónica took that chance to step in. She caressed Paula's hand and nodded firmly. "We won't. Let us take you to the hospital, though, please."

"Yes," Raquel nodded. "Let's go." 

Something switched in Laura's teary eyes and all too late, Raquel realized she hadn't cracked at all. That she would now say what Raquel wished deeply she wouldn't say at all. "Not you, Raquel. Mónica can take me, but not you," she whispered.

 _Ditto_ , she thought sadly. 

If it hurt her to breathe, she shoved it all back, into a dark corner of her mind that couldn't bother her. Boxes lined one after the other, all grievances she'd rather they wouldn't emerge. But her heart hurt. It was as though her ribcage was trying to suffocate her entirely, squeezing in on her lungs.

She'd really hoped she'd manage to push through, just a little, with her sister. 

She waited a few beats before she joined the others on the way back. 

"I'll bring you your coats," she said, but was stopped by Laura who sat at the table and began drinking.

"Don't be a bore, Raquel," she scoffed, a fake smile upon her lips, "let's have a drink."

"But we should—," tried Mónica as well.

"No. We ought to celebrate!"

Alberto pursed his lips. "Should you be drinking? I thought we were…"

"Trying for a baby?" Laura waved her hand. "Let's have a cheat day, shall we? Let's celebrate love! Waitress, bring me more champagne, I want to celebrate! To love!"

Mónica, Silene and Raquel exchanged worried glances. But if the first two women felt like they couldn't force her, not familiar enough to act out, Raquel didn't. 

An unknown kind of anger and frustration boiled within her. Everyone's cheerful laughter and will to drink, to _ignore_ what was going on, everyone's unwillingness to face things was like kindle to her flame. She closed her eyes to breathe, to think, but as she heard Laura laughing, she broke down simultaneously.

"Oh for fuck's sake, _stop it!_ " She exclaimed, fully aware of the glares glued onto her.

The priest frowned. "Are you okay?" 

Laura widened her eyes, urging her not to say it.

Raquel looked down, shivering. "Yes, I, um, I just… _Stop_ it," she whispered. 

Alberto's cold laughter made her freeze. He watched her with such iciness that she almost succumbed to his glare and sunk down in her seat. "Here we go, let's go." 

Mariví ignored him. "Is anything wrong, my dear?" 

"Has anything happened?" asked Agustín. 

"Nothing's happened," gritted Laura. 

"Something's happened," Raquel admitted. 

Alberto rolled his eyes. "Always causing a scene, aren't you?" Raquel's nostrils flared at the accusation, but her mouth wouldn't open to bite back a retort. The man took it as invitation to elaborate. "Accusing me of things I never did, getting a restraining order on me…" he tsked. 

Raquel didn't even deign that with a response. She breathed harshly, tears watering her eyes, but she tried to focus back on her sister, on the _miscarriage._

"We need to go," she whined.

Mariví frowned. "Go? Why, dear? What has something happened to you? Or Laura?" she turned to Laura with eyes wide. "Are you alright, dear?"

" _Yes,_ " Laura insisted. "I'm alright. Stop this, Raquel."

"No, I—," she took a harsh intake of breath. "I had a little," she sniffled, "a little miscarriage." 

Laura raised her eyebrows "What the _fuck_?" 

"What? God, that's terrible, Raquel," said the priest, his hand hovering above her arm. 

"We should go to the hospital!" Mariví announced, standing up, but was brought back down by Silene whose silent glare urged Raquel to stop it. But she was gone far too deep. 

"No, I am stubborn. I am stubborn, and," she couldn't say anything that would accuse Laura, she knew. She'd promised. _What do I say?_ "And I don't want to go to the hospital, even though I just had a miscarriage, because I'm _stupid_. Laura had noticed it on me and that's why she screamed. But I'm stubborn," she repeated, grabbing a glass of champagne, "so I'd rather drink away my problems."

She tried to ignore everyone's coddling, tried to ignore the lump, but she knew she wasn't yet at her breaking point.

"That's horrible, Raquel, really, you need to go to a hospital," said the priest. "And I shall pray for you."

She scoffed, a chill finding its way through her bones as she saw herself mirrored by Alberto. She turned to her ex-husband like in a trance, eyeing him warily.

"What do you need to pray for?" he groaned.

Sergio pushed his glasses up his nose. "For her. For her to feel some sort of peace after something as dreadful as this. No mother should have to go through miscarriage."

Alberto rolled his eyes. "I just don't think she deserves to be prayed for. Did you even know the father, huh, Raquel?"

Raquel couldn't even speak if she wanted to. Her throat had dried completely.

"That's what I thought," the man shook his head. "See, Father, this is a bitter woman. I bet there wasn't even a miscarriage. She just wanted the attention away from her mother and Agustín. And how disgusting of her to lie, too, when Laura and I are trying for a baby."

Mónica gasped. "How _dare_ you?"

Alberto snorted, ignoring her to continue his tirade. "Father," he said, laying a hand on the table, near Raquel's trembling own, "this woman is so bitter she put a _restraining order_ on me. She tries to keep Paula, _our_ daughter, away from me, because she is bitter."

"I doubt that's true," argued Sergio, his palms clenching into fists. 

But Alberto wasn't done. "Besides, I just think it's better, if the child died. I bet she'd take it away from its father like she," he grabbed at Raquel's wrist to underline his point, "took—."

Raquel wasn't thinking clearly. Frankly, she wasn't thinking at all. 

As soon as his hand wrapped itself around her wrist a part of her brain seized up and froze and before she knew it, her clenched fist had connected with Alberto's face.

"Don't _touch me—_ ," she tried to say, another fist ready to go, but Alberto's heavy hand hit her directly on the face, making her stumble back, her fist flailing around and hitting someone along the way.

Before anyone could stop Alberto, he'd also punched the poor waitress.

  
  


* * *

  
  


There was so much blood, so much blood. Streaming down her nose, coloring the white wet towel. It dripped down her chin and onto her chest, into the _fashionable_ rip of her pantsuit. 

Laying her non-bruised hand on the sink, she breathed heavily. She didn't even have the energy to wipe all the blood away, or to tend to her bruised knuckles. 

The mirror before her showed an image she'd rather ignore: bloodshot eyes that showed a weakness she'd thought long past, a pale face she'd grown accustomed to living with Alberto, deep eyebags and crimson blood cascading down. 

It wasn't the first time she watched herself in the mirror like this, trembling like a leaf and mingling salty tears with bitter blood. 

_I should be stronger now_ , she lamented. But his voice ringed in her ears as though it were all more recent. 

It took her another two minutes to finally even out her breaths. She even managed to give the crying waitress a wet towel, too, and to clean her face. 

Fixing her gaze onto the mirror, deep into her own eyes, she cleared up her blood and prayed that there wouldn't be more dripping down so soon. Not until she was home and she could lie down and use some ice, is all. 

It was then that someone knocked on the door and a familiar voice spoke through. "They've all left and paid", announced the priest. "Your mother didn't want to, but Agustín insisted that you should be left alone, so…" 

She cracked a smile, wincing when she tried to sniffle back the tears and a sharp pain went through her nasal canals. _A broken nose, then_. She turned to watch the door almost belatedly. "Then why aren't you leaving me alone?" 

A pause. 

"Do you want me to?" 

She pondered that briefly. "Jury's still out." 

He laughed. "I'll be waiting outside. I have your stuff. " 

Raquel nodded. Water refreshed her one last time before she stepped out into the clear air of the hallway where, as promised, the priest was awaiting her: arms on his sides, legs spread, a bag on his hip and an expectant look on his slightly bruised face — _a Sim._

Raquel cracked a laugh at that image. 

Sergio frowned. "Not that I lament seeing you laugh — you look pretty… okay when you laugh– but why are you laughing?" 

"It's just that you stand like a Sim, Father." 

"A what?" he tilted his head to the side – _all that was missing were floppy ears and he'd be a dog_.

_What?_

Raquel snorted. "A Sim," he simply stared at her, an empty look on his face. "You know, that game. The Sims. My daughter adores it." When he still only stared, she elaborated almost desperately, "It's a simulation game, where you create your own simulated characters and, like, build your house." 

"And," he pushed his glasses up his nose, "what do you with that?" 

"You live. Through them." Then, without waiting for a response, she added, "Thank you for waiting for me, by the way. And for not blaming me for that bruise. It's very kind of you." 

"I didn't want you to have to be alone," he said, giving her the purse. "As for the bruise," he grinned, "it's nothing. And… if you want me to leave, I will. I would never force my company upon you." Locking his gaze with hers, he firmly added, " _Ever._ " 

_Shut up,_ she smiled widely to no one in particular _._ "I know. But I don't mind. Thank you. And I may not believe in God much but I think he protected your glasses from my ruinous knuckles."

The priest laughed. "Blessed be. And truly, it's nothing."

"Still," she said firmly, "thank you, Father."

He nodded, smiling softly. As she smiled back, his eyes narrowed. "You have…" a hand extended to her face and hovered there. "Blood, you have blood, dripping." 

The ghost of his thumb caressed her chin – she wiped the latter thoroughly, whining at how the blood stained her wrist and how her hand couldn't clench at all. Sergio appeared to notice the bruised knuckles, as his eyes narrowed even more and his jaw clenched tightly. 

"I don't usually condone violence," he gritted, "as I oughtn't to, as a priest, but I would deck that man straight into Hell. You did a great job yourself. " 

Raquel chuckled weakly. "That sounds like a serious threat and a proper compliment, coming from a priest." 

Sergio nodded. "It very much is." Then he added. "And if you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm here. Always, for anything." He paused for a sharp intake of breath. "But speaking of things I can do right now, if you need a lift to the hospital, I can give you some money, too."

"What?"

"For the miscarriage," he elaborated. His warm eyes nearly pleaded her. "You should really go to the hospital, you know. And you're too drunk to drive, if you have a car. " Before she could argue that _no_ , she _d_ _oesn't_ need money at all although she _didn't_ have a car with her at the moment, he fished out a fifty euros bill out of his pocket and forced it into her hand. Then he stepped back and left for the door. "Goodnight, Raquel." 

" _N_ _o_ , come back!" 

He looked back from his post at the door and bared his teeth cheekily. "May God be with you." 

_What am I supposed to say back to that?_ she groaned. She was a terrible Catholic. 

"Fuck you, too," she retorted simply, instead. 

His grin widened.

As he left, Raquel couldn't help but stare at the door for a few moments afterwards, her eyes fixed.

She smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first LCDP fic so I am sorry, I hope I didn't make a mess out of their personalities. It'll be short enough, but with long chapters, because I want to follow, at least vaguely, the plot of Fleabag.
> 
> So if you've watched Fleabag, you know what to expect. But only vaguely.


	2. The Lawsuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raquel and Father Sergio begin an unlikely friendship, while an unexpected lawsuit is dropped.

* * *

"Peace be with you," Raquel said, wrapping her hand around a stranger's own. 

"And with you," came the answer. 

She turned to the side, spotting none other than Ágata, "Peace be with you," she told her, grabbing her hand firmly and squeezing it as though her life depended on the good impression she made on her babysitter. 

The younger woman smiled and squeezed back firmly. "And with you," she retorted, eyes locked with Raquel's. No worries seemed to live in  _ her _ heart, unlike Raquel. 

"Peace be with you, Ms. Ágata," squealed Paula beside her, grabbing at Ágata's hand firmer than a businesswoman. Her grip could truly match a proper gentleman, though she held tighter and far longer than a gentleman would. 

The two women couldn't help the soft smiles that graced their lips at the sight. 

"And with you, my dear," said Ágata, comically shaking the girl's hand to elicit a giggle. 

Raquel ruffled Paula's hair softly, proud of her for not disliking the Church or anything that came with it. She herself waited a few moments, watching everyone's actions, to sit down and grab her hand to play her favorite game: light scratching of her wrist. 

Paula hardly ever kept her silence unless Abuelita scratched her wrist, as used as she was to it, and it was up to Raquel to do it now. 

It was a late Saturday morning and, sure,July or not, Paula had no school to go to, but church was not child's favorite playdate site. 

The woman couldn't deny, however, the interest she held for the church she was in right now. It had specific paintings and carvings of particular moments of Christ's Passion, or so she assumed, in varying degrees of nudity and cruelty. Some authors, it seemed, valued gore above nakedness more, whereas others thrived in the idea of exposing a sacred place to dicks. 

Church, she had also forgotten, followed an airtight schedule and now that she'd held hands with the entire church and gone against any type of sanity regulations, came the moment of serious prayer. 

To God Himself. 

She hoped He couldn't see past her own reason to be here, of course, which went far beyond wanting to bring her daughter to an important First Saturday Mass in early preparation for her First Confession.

It hadn't even been exactly her choice to shove all these religious beliefs down Paula's throat, she herself believing in a freedom of sorts of Faith. But Mariví had insisted and as she herself had endured these lessons in her childhood, Paula was bound to do so, too. 

_ Our Father, Who art in Heaven _ , she murmured, the prayer imprinted into her mind whether she liked it not.  _ Hallowed be Thy name.  _

The paintings distracted her once again, leading her into a temptation so denounced by the prayer. A temptation she was not denying herself, either, by coming into this church, by watching Father Sergio stand in the middle and pray, arms spread wide and a solemn look upon a much somber  _ and _ sober face now. 

_ Lead us not into temptation,  _ said the prayer _ , but deliver us from evil _ . 

She smiled, fixing her stare into Sergio's concentrated eyes. 

_ Amen _ . 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Raquel's knowledge of Church etiquette was once again tested by the end of Mass as, when Sergio invited everyone to sit, she replied  _ And also with you _ , which should not have come as a surprise to her — she was great at both catching everyone's attention and fucking everything up. 

What she hadn't expected was for Sergio to falter a little, stammering over announcements and blushing a slight pink, his gaze avoiding Raquel's to avoid further distractions. 

She grinned at him nonetheless, hoping to catch him off guard if he looked her way. 

As Mass ended, she couldn't deny herself the pleasure to do what she'd been simply wanting to do the entire time – after all, she was not a woman to deny herself simple pleasures – which was talking to Sergio. 

"Paula, dear," she said, "go to Ágata." When the girl didn't budge, she fished a lemon candy out of her bag and pushed her. "There, go."

_God,_ _am I bad?_

_ No _ , she scoffed. She waved the notion away, absurd as it was. She was only seeking the company of a religious man so that he could offer her guidance in a better life, that was all. After all, Raquel had lost faith years back. 

Even if Father Sergio disagreed. 

Perhaps he could help. 

With that in mind, she waited for the church to empty almost entirely and, as the last of the people walked away, she stepped towards the priest and smiled, watching him expectantly. 

"Hello." 

"Hi," he said. 

She eyed his green vest cheekily. "Lovely dress." 

"Not a dress," he said, attempting to hide the embarrassed chuckle that aired out. "But thank you. Lovely, uh, dress yourself." 

She was wearing a red dress and black tights, just in case it was not allowed to bare her body in Church. 

A distant memory of summers long gone and lessons slept in, with children humming along to hymns they barely had the ability to understand – and even if they did understand they were definitely not allowed to question – reminded her that  _ no _ , she couldn't bare her shoulders, or legs too much. 

"Thought you'd be in prison by now," he joked, waving vaguely at her bruised nose and hand. 

Raquel rolled her eyes. "I really tried," she admitted, feigning a mournful look, "but they said I don't fit the criteria. Something about not having been reported for any assault and having a restraining order on the person I punched." 

"That seems right," confirmed the priest. "But," he raised an index, smirking, "I was referring to my own bruise."

_ Unbelievable _ , she thought, shaking her head. "Sorry about that, really am." 

Sergio scoffed lightly. "Don't be. It gives me an edge. I've already told everyone some heroic bullshit about it and they ate it all up. 'You should see the other guy', I said."

_ As in, me.  _ "I look bloody horrible," Raquel pouted, motioning at her nose. 

Though she'd put ice on it and tried to tend to it as well as she could, it took Paula jumping on her bed in the morning and accidentally slapping her on the nose to start the waterfalls again.

Her nose piercing only worsened things. 

_ Really regretting my early twenties fun age when I thought a nose piercing would give me edge,  _ she sighed.  _ The only edge I am closing upon now is the edge of depression.  _

"Absurd," said Sergio. "You look great. Hopefully fucking better than that bastard—." 

One last person walked past him, offering him a hand. "Peace be with you." 

Sergio sobered up, squeezing the hand back. "And with you." 

As soon as the person was out of earshot, Raquel remembered the other reason of her visit and fished out a twenty euro bill. "I wanted to pay you back for last night," she informed him.

Sergio raised his hands. "No, no. I don't want it, no." 

She ignored him, forcing, and failing, the bill against him. "It'll have to be in installments cause I planned a major fucking party for my daughter's birthday next Wednesday—." 

"It's Paula's birthday next Wednesday?" he intruded. 

She nodded distractedly. "Yeah. Next Wednesday as in… well, not  _ this _ week that is coming, but the next one. Two days before the wedding." 

"Got it," he nodded. 

"Yup, so, ten kids are coming to celebrate it, along with my own childish acquired family. In the late afternoon. So yeah, I only have this much to offer."  __

"I don't want it, really. I don't even have pockets here, see?" 

"Oh, come—." 

"I'll take it, then." Ágata caught them both by surprise, slipping the bill out of Raquel's hand swifter than a professional thief. 

"Ágata, that—." 

Ágata turned a deaf ear or two to Sergio, focusing solely on Raquel. "And I'll take Paulita here for a walk while you two talk, shall I?" She raised the girl's hand to signal her presence. "We'll get ice-cream, won't we, Paulita?" 

Paula smiled from ear to ear. "Yay! We can, mami, can't we?" 

Raquel gaped only for a second before flushing a dark crimson. "Uh, yes, sure. You can get ice-cream, honey. But not too much, cause your tummy will ache if you do." 

Although the girl was unsatisfied, Ágata promised, in a hushed tone that was supposed to appear secretive but was easily overheard, that the ice-cream would be greater than a castle and could 'feed entire colonies of giants' . 

Raquel tried her best not to roll her eyes affectionately, or to chuckle, but she failed both. Spoiling her daughter came so easily to everyone: her cheeky grin and her twinkling eyes melted any heart. 

"So you know Ágata?" 

Raquel smiled. "Yeah. She's my babysitter sometimes. Well, not  _ mine _ . Paula's. And sometimes we get non-alcoholic beer while my daughter sleeps, but she's always very careful."

Sergio hummed, a thoughtful look painting across his features. "Do you want some tea?"

_ God, he's terrible at small talk _ . 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The church's backroom was simultaneously exactly what Raquel had expected and an absolute disaster. 

A combination of vests and dresses thrown around as well as proper paintings hung on the wall. A particular painting caught her eye: a woman was on her knees bent forwards with her hands in the air, staring not upwards but directly at the lower parts of—. 

_ Jesus _ . 

Raquel couldn't fight the grin that drew upon her lips, a twinkle in her eyes at the lewd thoughts. 

She turned her attention to the rest of the room, examining the vast collection of Bibles thrown on the table. There were more of them than she'd expect a single priest to be able to read. Not that the idea of more priests owning a single parish didn't cross her mind – she'd simply done her research and knew this church belonged only to two priests. 

A dozen Bibles were  _ not _ needed. 

Unless Father Sergio had a secret stash of cocaine carved in those pages. 

_ No _ ,  _ that'd be absurd _ .

She grabbed one of the Bibles, opening it right in the middle. As expected, nothing came up. Overcome, however, by a sudden urge, she brought the Bible up to her nose and sniffed, inhaling its scent as though it were cocaine itself. 

A tray materialized in her line of sight. "Here you go!" came Sergio's unnaturally chirpy voice, the sound of which urged her to instantly drop the Bible and act natural.

_ Natural _ . 

She grinned widely through the pain that it caused her to crinkle her nose. 

"What a room!" she teased him lightly, winking to see him squirm under her gaze. "I think I can say with  _ absolute _ certainty that you have more dresses than I do." 

Sergio attempted to hide his bashful smile by bringing the tray of tea up to his face. He didn't think it through, of course, as one of the mugs, sensing unsteady territory — not that a mug could  _ sense _ anything — flipped forwards. 

" _ Fuck _ !" they both exclaimed simultaneously as starching hot liquid dropped on her already bruised hand.

"Holy fucking fuck!" she added, waving her hand in the air to ease the pain. She swore she could see literal stars before her eyes and no amount of blinking could pry them away. "Holy  _ shit _ !" 

" _ Shit _ ," Sergio cursed, grabbing at the nearest cloth and running it under cold water. "I'm so sorry! Fuck,  _ shit _ , I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. I don't know what—," she winced when he put it against her hand, which only made another litany of apologies flow out of mouth. 

"Stop it," she told him, hissing when the pressure on her hand eased as he took it as an invitation to step away.  _ I miss his stupid clumsy hand— shut up _ . Her breath hitched when she saw the sorrow in his eyes. "Stop apologizing, it's okay. I've had worse. I was a cop and… " she trailed off as the other implications hung in the air between them. 

"That doesn't make it better," he whined. "I'm tremendously sorry. God, I'm such a clutz. Can you forgive me? No, don't reply to that. I was an idiot, I'm sorry." 

"Stop apologizing, I mean it." The pain hadn't disappeared, but cold water could work wonders. "Just allow me to grab some leaves of that lovely aloe I saw in the garden coming in and we'll be even." 

At the mention of the plant he immediately perked up, eyes widening. He stood up so quickly it was almost comical. "Do you want me to grab it for you now?" 

Raquel laughed, laying a hand on his to pull him back down. "No. You promised a drink," she said, "and I hope you don't just have deadly tea and watered down wine in your shelves here, because I think I'll need something stronger." 

"Stronger! Yes!" he smiled. "You're not driving, I hope, because I have  _ proper _ strong alcohol. Tequila! Although it's not mine, but I doubt Andrés will care." 

_Andrés?_ Eh, she didn't care. _Tequila_ _will do the trick_. 

"No, I think this hand qualifies for a no driving list for me." When he looked back with another apology already slipping out of his lips –  _ forbidden _ lips – she added. "I'll just call Mónica, it's really fine. I didn't feel like driving anyway." 

He pouted. "You're just saying that to make me feel better for burning your hand. And I should be the one making you feel better." 

_ Just talking to you makes me feel better _ , she laughed to no one in particular. To him, she said, "You'll have to work harder," earning a cheeky grin that settled right in her chest. She averted her gaze, settling in the cloth on her hand. 

A cross stretched right across her palm. "Is this holy?" 

If the way he pursed his lips and huffed was any indication, it absolutely was. Or had been, given its current state. Not that Raquel understood much about the holiness of certain objects – could objects be at all  _ holy _ ? 

He confirmed her doubts. "It's definitely less holy than it used to be. But God will forgive me. He's quite forgiving, that one." 

"I could wash it for—." 

"No, no, absolutely not." His eyes stared deeply into her own. "Your hand was more important, in that moment." Without further ado, he offered her a glass of tequila. "Tequila, then?" His firm gaze never abandoned her face as she swallowed it all down. He seemed to memorize each and every feature of hers. "I admit I don't drink much of it myself." 

"No, no," she struggled to open the bottle with one hand and filled him a glass, "you're drinking with me. For me." 

"Hm," he succumbed to her prayers. Under her scrutinizing glare, the alcohol disappeared into his throat in no time, burning it visibly. Tears pricked in his small eyes. "Gah! I forgot how much I hated tequila. Serves me right," he removed his glasses and scrubbed the tears away.

Raquel couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of throat at the sight of his red face. 

"You should see yourself now."

"Yes, make fun of me now," he complained in an exaggerated tone that let her know he absolutely didn't hold it against her. "And here I was, praying for you."

Raquel arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"You were in my prayers, last night," he explained. 

_ Likewise _ , she winked.

"Hm?"

"I prayed for your loss." When she cocked her head to the side, he elaborated. "Of your child. For the miscarriage. A tragedy, really. I meant it, when I said that no mother should have to go through it."

_ Oh. That _ .

"Oh," she smiled. "Yes. Yeah, no, absolutely."

Genuine concern and interest painted across his features: in the way his forehead wrinkled and his lips pursed. "How's the father?" 

"Oh, he…" she stammered to find a proper response that wouldn't make it oh-so clear that she'd lied, "doesn't exist." 

Sergio looked down at her bruised hand, a small smile gracing his lips. "I understand." His Adam's apple bobbed as he thought of how to elaborate his ideas.

_ He thinks so loudly, _ Raquel noticed.  _ It's like you can hear the gears turning in his head. A whirring machine. _

"You know," he said, "in the funeral liturgy there's a passage about grief, and death. That life is changed, not ended. I've always found it rather comforting, even before I found my calling."

"It is rather nice," Raquel admitted, "but I don't much believe in life after death. And I definitely don't believe in God."

The painting she'd been laughing at fell down with a thud that echoed in Raquel's heart. She startled, eyes wide and mouth agape. Sergio, on the other hand, snorted, humming appreciatively. 

"I love it when He does that." 

Raquel couldn't formulate a proper reply for the world. The sound of the painting falling still played in her mind. 

_ God. _

"Anyway, I figured you didn't," Sergio stifled a chuckle. "When I saw you sniff the Bible, I knew."

Raquel swallowed thickly, still eyeing him warily as though he could send God against her if she did or said anything wrong again. "That was a dead giveaway," she attempted a laugh, "wasn't it?"

"That, and you not knowing what to reply during Mass."

Raquel raised her hand defensively. "Ah, but that was a genuine mistake! I  _ was _ raised Catholic. I knew all about it, in the past. Can't say I practiced much. Being a cop requires a lot of attention — and many sacrifices, of one's own integrity. But I knew it all." She paused. " _ Vaguely _ ."

She still berated herself for ever having been a cop, really. What noble calling was there in it, really?

"If you don't mind me asking," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose, "what made you lose your Faith in God so completely?"

Raquel considered laying all her cards down on the table, baring her soul to a priest. After all, who else could comprehend her better, without any judgment? _The painting doesn't_ _count_. And Sergio's warm eyes, his straight posture and his nervous smile told her that, if she was willing, she could say it all.

But she couldn't.

_ I wish I could. _

"He wasn't there when I needed Him most," she said simply and averted her gaze, trying to convey the message that this was it, that she wouldn't discuss it further and that he shouldn't press it. 

Sergio understood completely, pouring her another glass of tequila instead.

It was then that a reddish book with ribbons on and green broccoli upon it caught her eye. She grabbed at the offensive – not offensive, simply  _ ugly _ – object and snorted.

"What is  _ that _ ?" Before she could lay her eyes on the description of it, he snatched it away from her.

An unforeseen blush graced his cheeks. "Nothing.  _ Nothing!" _

"Are you writing a book, Father?"

He flushed a darker red. " _ No. _ No, I swear, no." She tilted her head, an eyebrow arched provocatively — a dark part of her relished in the way he bent under her will, the implications not yet really clear in her mind. "Promise not to laugh."

She crossed her heart and kissed her fingers. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

He rolled his eyes. "I write reviews for the local restaurant in the parish magazine, okay?" She snorted. "You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"I wasn't laughing," she assured, snorting again. "I just have something stuck in my nose, is all."

"For a therapist, your poker face is dreadful."

She gasped, feigning offence. Her lips pursed tightly, eyes narrowed and her posture straightened. She eyed him expectantly. "How's that for a poker face?"

"Poker," he said solemnly. "But your hooded and tipsy eyes are a dead giveaway."

_ Unbelievable _ , Raquel scoffed. "Anyway, don't change the subject. Tell me one of your reviews, please."

"Oh!" he brightened, dimples deepening on his cheeks. "I actually have one that I am very proud of!" Under her exaggeratedly calm gaze, he faltered. "It's stupid, actually, never mind."

"No!" she exclaimed. "Tell me! I want to hear it."

"Eh," he waved her words away. "It's dumb."

"I'm sure it isn't."

He winced, closing his eyes to avoid her scrutinizing gaze. "'I'd spend 40 days and 40 nights in  _ that _ dessert'," he said, failing to hide his pride, an adorable grin drawing upon his lips.

Raquel's breath hitched as she smiled from ear to ear.

_ Oh God, I fancy a priest. _

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


"Which flavor of ice-cream did you get?" 

Ágata had dropped Paula off reluctantly, lamenting the brevity of Raquel and Sergio's  _ conversation _ . "I could have her with me for a bit longer, if you have anything else to do," she had assured, winking at the girl who had nodded back firmly, assuring that she, too, could stay with Ágata  _ all _ day. 

Now they were waiting for Silene to come pick them up, one of them playing with her phone, the other nursing her hand with aloe – she'd initially called Mónica, but the woman sadly turned her down. "Cinci is not feeling too well," she explained. "But Silene is surely free. And I think she's actually dying to tell you something." 

Whatever the  _ something _ was, Mónica didn't elaborate, called back by her whining son to lay all her love on him again. 

Raquel only prayed the  _ news _ Silene had for her was not, in typical Silene style, so absolutely fucking bad she'd have to bury herself alive upon hearing it. 

_ Last time she told me she had some news for me _ , Raquel informed no one in particular,  _ she told me Laura was dating Alberto. Look where that has gotten us.  _

"TARDIS flavor!" Paula exclaimed. 

Raquel blinked. "What?" 

"Mami," the girl said seriously, as if Raquel had committed a crime against humanity by not understanding. "TARDIS! From Doctor Who, you know." Raquel frowned. A bell rang somewhere in the depth of her mind, but not close enough. "Doctor Who, mami! The one where they travel in time and space and there's this Doctor, who's now a  _ girl _ who saves people!" 

"Oh," she nodded, not understanding one bit. 

_ I've never seen that show with her, ever.  _ An enigma arose around the girl like a giant question mark rising out of the soil.  _ Is my mother, or Ágata, watching it with her?  _

"But how did they manage to turn that into a flavor?" 

Paula flapped her arms around heavily, sighing. Sometimes mothers could truly exasperate children, couldn't they? "They only scratched a bit off the surface of it and, and, you know, turned it into ice?"

"Froze it?" she offered kindly. 

"Yes! They froze it. Obviously." 

_ Obviously.  _

"And was it fruity or more on the chocolate side of things?" 

Paula paused for a second, narrowing her eyes. After long enough consideration, she brightened and showed off her crooked teeth. "It tasted like gum! Sweet gum!" 

_ Gum flavor, then _ . 

A car honked, followed by the appearance of Silene's grinning face through the window. Her hair was shorter than it had been last night and if  _ that _ was the news she'd wanted to share, Raquel would kill Mónica for the suspense. 

_ She's probably on her period _ , thought Raquel, knowing very well the many times Silene changed her appearance and how there were only two valid reasons for her to do so: menstruation or important changes.  _ Or maybe Ánibal broke up with her?  _

Raquel laughed at that.  _ He'd rather die than give her up.  _

"Get in," the younger woman shouted, urgency clear in her voice, "you've got an appointment in about an hour." 

"What? Appointment?" Silene widened her eyes as though to say that she'd explain it later, when the air was clear. Speaking of air, she glanced at her daughter, then back at Silene. "But Paula—." 

"We'll stop at Mónica's on our way there."

Once Paula was strapped to the baby seat Raquel had forced Silene to bring along, the older woman turned to the brunette and, not caring about sounding  _ nice _ , she asked, "What the fuck is going on?" Hearing her daughter gasp, she amended, "Sorry, dear, cursing  _ is _ wrong. Mami won't do it again."

_ Not in front of you, at least.  _

"I wonder what she'd think about the  _ priest _ cursing," Silene joked in a hushed tone, leaning over to Raquel lest the girl heard her. The priest cursing  _ had _ been a surprise. "Speaking of," the younger woman trailed off with a tilt of lewdness in her voice, "why were you at church today?" 

_ Because I fancy a priest _ , she thought. To Silene, she huffed, "Paula needs to hit a quota of Masses to go to for her First Confession." It was a lie, sort of. Not that Silene would know anything about it. 

"Oh," the woman appeared pensive as she watched the rear mirror for any issues. As she resumed her original position, however, a spark glimmered in her eyes. "Because I thought you just came here because you wanted to fuck—." 

Raquel didn't let her finish, violently throwing a pair of earbuds and her own phone to Paula to urge her to listen to music before she gritted, "Not everyone is after sex,  _ Silene _ ." 

"But you are," she said matter-of-factly. "More importantly, you want to fuck a priest. Not that I blame you — I'd fuck him, too." 

"Shut up." 

"But he's sworn to celibacy," Silene continued, an air of faux solemnity surrounding her; her hands left the wheel as she imitated Sergio's praying position, immediately drawing back to the wheel when another car materialized in front of them. "Do you know what celibacy is?" Before Raquel could throw back anything at all, Silene opened Siri. "Siri, what is celibacy?" 

_ No.  _ "Don't do it," she warned her. Silene only laughed back in response. 

_ "Celibacy: noun. The state of abstaining from marriage and sexual relations. For example: 'a priest who had taken a vow of celibacy'," _ announced the telephone assistant. 

Raquel couldn't hide herself deeper in the seat. "I  _ know _ what celibacy is." 

Silene hummed, but she was not yet done. "And what happens when a Catholic priest has sex, Siri?" 

" _ A man with the calling of priesthood accepts celibacy, that is the abstention of sex and full devotion to God _ , _ "  _ said the assistant in such a chirpy voice it felt as though Silene had paid her to say it all. __

"We already knew that," she told the younger woman with a roll of her eyes, but before she could breathe freely again, Silene raised a finger and winked. 

That was when the virtual assistant continued, voice even chirpier than before. " _ However, at least fifty percent of priests do not completely abstain and often break the vow of celibacy, for love or other, worse reasons, because nothing truly happens if they do."  _

Raquel moaned a complaint, completely unable to hide the embarrassment that washed over her at the sudden spark of happiness that settled in her heart at the thought of, possibly, having a chance with Sergio. 

Silene relished in it. After a few minutes of Raquel not saying a word, however, she broke the silence in a serious tone so unlike her usual self. "Alberto is filing a lawsuit against you." 

"What?!" 

"Yeah, he's going for the cop card and suing you for assaulting an officer." 

Raquel's heart sank. "This can't be possible," she whispered, "can he even do that? He can't do that, can he? I have a  _ restraining order _ against him. He's not even allowed within a hundred meters of me!"

"I know." Seeing Raquel's wide eyes, she added. "I  _ know.  _ But he's questioning the justice of that restraining order. Something about him being innocent. Laura tried to talk him out of it—."

"Laura?"

Silene bit but lower lip, looking almost scared. "Yeah. Listen, she's not for it. She does think you punched him too hard but some of the things he said to you… I don't know, made her see it all differently."

Was her sister finally beginning to see things as they were? Was she finally going to forgive her for the restraining order? For going to court against Alberto for domestic violence? For filing for sole custody of Paula, therefore limiting the times Laura saw the girl as well? 

Silene continued. "And there is the fact that you had no proof for the domestic violence, or witnesses. The court may now be in his favor." 

_ Fuck.  _

"Could they…" she trailed off, her eyes skimming to Paula who, absorbed as she was in her music could not sense the turmoil in her mother's heart. 

Silene shook her head firmly. " _ No _ ." The unlikely kindness in the younger woman's eyes almost made her believe it. "I have the best lawyer for you. She'll scare him off to make him drop his stupid charges, and if that doesn't work, she'll win in court anyway."

"Who is she?" Raquel had an inkling she already knew the person, quite well and that it was the exact person who had caused the schism between the Ramos sisters, but she wanted to hear it said anyway.

"A friend," Silene brushed it off. "Kind of a pervert, but the best in her field. She defends rapists." 

This type of person defending her was almost a nightmare. She swallowed down the burning taste in her throat — she was not going to lose custody of Paula for a stupid punch. 

"And she's good, you say?" 

Silene scoffed. "Undefeated." 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


It truly  _ was _ her. The ginger woman that both Silene and Julia had wanted to fuck and who had fucked them both. 

Or not? 

_Nobody_ _is sure. We all have bets on it, but the two sisters both only accuse each other without ever actually admitting to anything._

Which could be annoying, because apparently the sister that was least offended by it and that still came to family dinners was Silene, not Julia, and although, deep down, Raquel was more attached to Silene, Julia was less abrasive and less prone to outbursts. 

And she wasn't dating a 19 years old amateur hacker at the age of 34.

_ Ánibal is closer in age to Paula than Silene.  _

"Alicia Sierra, at your service," the woman in question stretched out a hand to Raquel, a queer smile upon her lips and a sparkle in her piercing blue eyes as she surprised Raquel by grabbing her hand and bringing it to her lips. "Pleased to meet you," she purred. 

Raquel could see why the two sisters both wanted to fuck her so badly. Fuck, she could use a fuck, too, to forget the fucking priest. 

She had to physically remind herself that this woman defended  _ rapists _ .

"Raquel Murillo," she breathed in a trance, "pleased to meet you too." 

Silene leaned over. "Please don't sleep with her." 

"Wasn't thinking of it," she lied through her teeth. 

"Just saying," the brunette shrugged, boring a hole in Alicia's smirking face. "Her reputation precedes her." 

_ The pot calls the kettle black _ . The list of people Silene had fucked or dated in the short span of four years that they've known each other was endless.

"Don't stand in the doorway like that, ladies," said Alicia. She let them step past her before she closed the door, a dark look upon her face. "Now, first things first, I want to make it clear that, under no circumstances, do I sleep with people I work with." 

Silene and Raquel stared at her blankly. As expected, the woman cracked a second later, bursting into a loud laughter that reached her eyes and affected the two women as well. 

"Some humor is always needed to alleviate the tension," she winked, "isn't it, shrink?" 

Albeit she couldn't say she appreciated the abrasive egomania that  _ wafted _ off the woman, Raquel was taken aback. "How do you—?"

Alicia waved a properly manicured hand. "A pretty, little birdie told me." She batted her eyelashes at Silene while settling herself in her seat, feet immediately drawn to the table to assert a sort of dominance Raquel knew all too well. 

_ A good rule about a therapy room,  _ she informed,  _ is to always set a small table between yourself and your client, too see if they'll follow proper etiquette or put their feet on it.  _

Instead of offering Raquel undivided attention, as she ought to, Alicia grabbed a lollipop and wrapped her crimson lips around it provocatively, then turned to Silene. "Is your haircut new?" 

"Like your tits," she shrugged. 

Alicia laughed a laughter that did not reach her eyes – there was mirth in them, yes, but it was cold. "What can I say? My latest client had such a rough case it truly paid my tits." 

"Speaking of cases," Raquel tried to draw the attention back to herself, "can you help me?" 

"Of course," Alicia's lips smacked. "If you spit guilty, you'll swallow a short sentence, or get community service, if you're lucky." 

_ Sentence?  _ No, Raquel was not serving any  _ fucking _ sentence. 

"Or?" 

"Did you start it?" 

Raquel frowned. "Sort of. He violated the restraining order I put on him by wrapping his hand around my wrist. And that shouldn't be fucking allowed. If I were still a cop—." 

"Mhm, but  _ he _ is still the cop, which makes him above the law now," Alicia removed the lollipop from her mouth and waved it at Raquel. "Any witnesses?" 

"Way too many," Raquel admitted with a sigh. Silene rolled her eyes. 

"You know the victim very personally, I can guess, of course—." 

"Let's not call him  _ victim _ ," gritted Silene, arching her eyebrows at the woman so that Raquel felt like she was intruding.

"That's what he is." 

"Not exactly." 

Raquel watched the way her cousin-in-law stretched in her eyes and narrowed her eyes at the older woman with narrowed eyes of her own. If she was to solve the mystery on her own, so be it. 

_ Alicia's fucked both, _ she thought. _ On the same night, possibly. _

Alicia crossed past that, licking the lollipop to draw out the time of the meeting, and the money that would come out of it. "First things first, you must not apologize to him, at all." 

"I can do that—." 

Silene scoffed. "While I usually  _ love _ not to apologize to assholes, might he not be inclined to forgive her if she apologizes?"

"An apology can be taken as an admission of guilt," Alicia said matter-of-factly, "and I don't think  _ Raquel _ here wants to be proven guilty. Not if that could cost her the custody of her  _ daughter."  _

"Absolutely—." 

"But," Silene was already propped on the lawyer's desk with an argument on her parted lips, "she could lose custody of her daughter if he doesn't drop his charges if your little  _ scare _ proves to be unhelpful." 

Raquel pursed her lips. 

_ No, Alicia only fucked Julia, but the latter doesn't know she's the only one.  _

"It is critical that if he  _ does _ go to court that she doesn't apologize because he could have a recording of it, or anything at all, and the court will then be able to disprove the restraining order, too," Alicia propped herself on the desk as well to face Silene's angry face better. 

_ Or she hasn't fucked either. I really can't tell.  _

"Can you promise that you'll prove that my restraining order was right, in court?" Raquel asked after some consideration. "My accusations of domestic violence were true."

"Oh, sweetheart, I can do anything," she assured. "Even if they weren't true, I'd convince them they were." 

"No need—." 

"Listen," Silene interrupted again, "can't we just send him some stupid letter to scare him off?" 

"That really doesn't make sense. Unless you know someone with great penmanship capable of scaring a cop?" 

Silene smirked. "I know a priest or two that might warm his heart." 

"Don't you know about warming hearts, honey?" 

Raquel widened her eyes.  _ I've got it. They haven't fucked, but they were going to.  _

"I know more than enough," drawled Silene.

"So I've heard." 

" _ Alicia _ ." 

_ Oh, God, I've got to get out before they fuck on this desk with me as their spectator.  _

Knowing Silene, being watched during sex was just a turn-on. And something about this manicured lawyer told her the passion was shared. 

She got up abruptly. "Excuse me. I hope you can help me, but I've got to, uh— bye." 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


"She said she'll help you as a favor for me, but on one condition." Raquel groaned in anticipation, sensing that nothing good could be demanded by such a self-absorbed woman. "You'll have to agree to go on a drink with her." 

_ Ditto.  _

Raquel winced. "I thought she wanted to sleep with you,"  _ or Julia _ . 

"I thought so, too," said Silene, not realizing the slip of the truth, "but I think she doesn't like my current hair. Anyway, she wouldn't sleep with you so quickly. She claims to have  _ manners _ and  _ standards. _ "

"That's good." 

Silene glanced at her with narrowed eyes. "But if she offers, don't sleep with her, please." 

Raquel couldn't hold back the laughter that bubbled out. "I won't," she raised her hands defensively, as though surrendering to Silene's wiles. "I promise, I'm not that interested." 

"Why?" Confusion was apparent in the younger woman's eyes. "Don't tell me there's somebody else for you, please." 

" _ No _ ," she lied. Under Silene's inspective gaze, she admitted, "Sort of." 

Silene gaped. "Not the  _ priest _ , right?" When Raquel didn't reply, she laughed out loud, slapping her shoulder to convey her amusement. "God, that is one hell of a mountain to climb." She tsked. "Admirable." 

It was not exactly the type of support Raquel had expected to get, and she couldn't deny the guilt that she felt at being so well accepted by Silene when she herself had done nothing but judged Silene's relationship with Ánibal. 

As soon as they settled in the car, Raquel decided to clear that up. 

"I'm sorry for how I reacted to you dating Ánibal," she hoped to convey her sincerity by staring directly into the younger woman's eyes. "It was not my place to judge you." 

Silene widened her eyes. "Don't try to turn us into sappy friends now, Raquel. But for what it's worth, thanks. That punch you threw at Alberto, oof… You've changed in my eyes now." 

"God," she laughed in disbelief. "Did it really take punching my abusive ex husband to make everyone finally respect me?" 

"Yeah," Silene slapped her arm heavily, "now you get it!"

Thus they succumbed into a comforting silence, relishing only in the whirrs of the car and the occasional beeps from passing cars, almost enjoying each other's company on their way to Mónica's. 

Raquel, of course, imagining herself done for the day, already having both met a lawyer and having realized her attraction to a priest, expected Silene to pick  _ Paula _ up from Mónica's.

End of story. 

Silene, however, as unpredictable as she was, let Mónica slip in instead. "To the priest's, then!" 

Raquel startled. " _ What _ ?" 

"Yeah," Silene chuckled, a foot already on the gas lest the older woman woman any ideas to jump, "My father needs me to drive him to Father Sergio's house. For the plumbing issue. You're coming with me."

"But Paula—." 

"Already taken of." Upon Raquel's startled gaze, Mónica rushed to add, "Dani put Frozen on tv and now both Paula and Cinci are singing along." A pause. "Dani is singing, too. Louder than them. He promised them Frozen shaped pancakes for dinner." 

Raquel grunted. "She shouldn't be eating so many pancakes." 

Silene didn't allow Mónica to retort. With a wink she brought the conversation back to the priest. "Anyway, I need to see with my own eyes if he wants to fuck Raquel as much as she does." 

Raquel would have never expected Mónica to soundlike a teenage girl when she giggled, a hand clasped to her mouth. "And I'm just interested in seeing how he lives," the blonde said. "And in whether he's undressing you with his eyes, too." 

_ They have no shame _ , she scoffed. "When did you even manage to tell her about it?" 

Silene pretended to ponder about it, watching the road as though she were the most careful driver. "Yesterday evening." 

" _ Yesterday _ evening?" 

Mónica confirmed it with a hum. "When you were talking about faith and stuff. That's when it clicked for the two us." 

"And we discussed it on our way to the hospital with Laura." 

Raquel furrowed her brows. "How did you manage to convince her to do  _ that _ ? I was supposedly the one with the miscarriage."

"Oh," Silene dropped her hands off the wheel to pull up her black pants. Exactly on the knee a yellowish gauze was wrapped, reddish where the blood seemed to still spill out. "I made Mónica push me off the sidewalk on our way to the car. A bit too hard, but it caused  _ quite _ the—." 

"Put your fucking hands on the wheel!" Raquel urged when the car began driving off the lane, approaching another, opposite car all too quickly. 

Silene swerved back to their lane just in time, the edge of her gorgeous Maserati nearly scratching the other less expensive car. No sooner had she stepped out of peril, however, that she dropped one hand to her knee again and continued, " _ Stir. _ I pretended to cry—." 

" _ Pretended _ ," Mónica slapped her seat pointedly. "She was full on weeping. Tears and all. And that's how she convinced Laura to come with us." 

"The rest is history," concluded Silene.

The car slowed down with the ending of the story, a complex of buildings lined up on Raquel's side. Silene parked in front of a particularly grey and dull one, her hands already on her phone, dialing her father's number.

"Yes," she spoke in a bored tone through the phone, leaning against the window while her fingers played with the hem of her shirt. "I'm – no, I didn't bring– if you  _ wanted me _ – oh, so now I need to—?  _ Fine _ , I'm going up." She rolled her eyes, turning to Raquel and Mónica with an exasperated sigh. "I'll be right back." 

The other two women sat in silence, until it became unbearable and Raquel put on her ABBA playlist. 

"Good band," Mónica complimented, eyes sparking as the phone played the tune of  _ Honey Honey Honey _ through the speakers. 

"Yep." 

The conversation died again. Raquel considered even beginning another when, luckily, the front door opened to reveal a fuming Silene, her feet stomping on the ground like Hulk, a toolkit in her hand. 

_ This can only mean…  _

Benjamín trailed after her. And Julia after him. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


It was  _ thin _ . Sergio's house, located only a few feet away from the church itself, could only be described as absolutely fucking thin. To the point that, despite only having a ground floor and a first floor, it appeared almost tall. 

One could only hope it had a garden to make up for its size. Somehow the thought of a priest owning such an ugly house seemed  _ wrong.  _

"They're usually… richer," commented Silene. 

Benjamín offered a kind smile. "I'm sure it's fancier inside." 

As soon as the door widened and Ágata's head —  _ Ágata? she lives with Sergio?  _ — popped out, they all realized that although it  _ was  _ fancy, with crosses and proper chandeliers adorning every corner, and paintings depicting lewd Bible scenes hung on every wall, it was all  _ too _ much. 

_ It's as though four people all decided to bring the same things to the house _ , Raquel thought,  _ all in the same amounts and no one agreed to remove some to save space and integrity.  _

"Hello Raquel!" Ágata perked up at the sight of her, jumping in to kiss her on the cheek. "How's your hand?" 

Raquel shook it in the air weakly, wincing at the scorching mark right on the top. "I must say, it's seen better days."

"He's deadly, isn't he?" she sighed exaggeratedly. "But," she turned her attention to the rest, "slip inside, there! Bless you for coming. God, you're our saviors."

They followed like ducklings, stacked one after the other in the slim corridor which wafted of incense and something so completely  _ old _ Raquel would bet twenty euros that the house had belonged to a hundred-years-old priest whose death had certainly not come as a surprise to anyone before it was passed down to Sergio – and subsequently Ágata?

_Do they come like a package deal?_ Raquel scoffed at the possible accusation that she'd be _jealous._ _Shut up._

"Sorry for the absolute fucking mess," apologized Ágata as they stepped into an actual room. Indeed, right after the extremely religious corridor came a kitchen full of sandwiches and chopped fruit and vegetables, its mess matching the corridor's own, if not outranking it. A bowl of pringles embellished the scene, only slightly. Right beside it lay empty paper cups and plates with paper cutlery. 

"What's all of this for?" Julia laid herself against the counter, fishing a pringle out of the bowl and cracking it loudly.

Ágata sighed. "I'm helping Father Martín,"  _ Father Martín? I know a Father Martín,  _ "prepare for a movie night that he decided to organize with the Church youth but he, uh, left me to it."

_ Men. _

"But," the tall woman clapped her hands together, "I won't bother you with this mess. You must be looking for Father Sergio, yes? He's upstairs, in the bathroom, drowning in books while waiting for you, to prove his knowledge in plumbing." 

Albeit she spoke to the entire group, her gaze locked directly with Raquel's. A flush warmed the latter's face.

_ Fuck off, _ she grunted, an unwanted thrill creeping down her spine at the thought of seeing Sergio just so shortly after her realization of the morning. 

_ I'm a professional. _

Just as she was about to follow Benjamín up the stairs, Mónica said the dreaded words, "We could help you out with the preparations, couldn't we, girls?" Silene rolled her eyes, plopping down on the nearest chair. There was no way in Hell she would be moved to help. "Come on, it's not like any of us knows anything about plumbing."

_ I sure fucking do _ . Raquel blinked.  _ Siri does. _

"You're an angel!" said Ágata, squeezing Mónica's cheek with earnest. "I don't need too many hands, though," she added, her gaze falling on Raquel's pleading face. Eyebrows wiggled provocatively. "Four will be enough, and I think Raquel's scorched hand isn't fit for  _ work _ , so it'll have to be either of you."

Raquel mouthed a silent thank you.

"I'll just…" she trailed off, trying not to come off too earnest at the prospect of seeing Sergio. "They might need someone to read out the instructions," she mumbled almost incoherently, propriety flying out the window.

As she walked up the stairs skipping steps to reach the top faster, she heard Ágata clapping her hands. "Come on, come on, introduce yourselves or I'll be calling you with random city names, now!"

_ As intrigued as I am what city names she'd come up with, _ she admitted as she walked towards the door of what she presumed was the bathroom,  _ I want to see him pretending to know all about plumbing. _

"–Too vague," Sergio's voice reached her ear as soon as she reached the door. She propped her shoulder against the doorframe and crossed her arms, watching him with an air of intrigue and amusement. "I can't just risk twisting the cap myself, if I have no proper equipment. Moreover, that would only be useful if the water was running continuously, I  _ checked _ , but the water is not running."

Benjamín nodded. "I understand, Father, that's right, but the water could be not running because it ran for too long."

The priest appeared ready for that. "Yes, I know that's a possibility. A small one," he mimicked the size by putting his index against his thumb, "but it exists. But! Martín checked the tanks. They're full."

"Ah," Benjamín hummed. "Could be a broken tube, then?"

"Yes, probably yes. Would that be hard to mend?"

The old man shrugged, a look of contempt behind his glasses. "Not hard. But I will need some of my friends to come here to help, because I'll need to check which tube is off, and where. Might need to pull."

The priest sparked up. "I could help you look and pull!"

Raquel chuckled airily at the terrified look that appeared on Benjamín's old face. "Erm," he muttered, scratching his head. "The thing is…"  _ Poor man, try telling an over excited priest that you don't need his help.  _ "I need, erm," he whimpered, averting Sergio's eager gaze, "you see,  _ professional _ help. Not that I wouldn't— I'm sure you'd be great, but, uh…"

The woman decided to save her poor step-uncle by making herself seen. "Father,"  _ Father _ , "it seems neither your help nor mine is needed anywhere."

Sergio startled at the sound of her voice, dropping the book he'd been holding. "Raquel," he breathed. "What are– what are you doing here? In my house— in my  _ bathroom _ ?"

"I was kidnapped at gunpoint for not believing in God," she stated it as a fact so obvious, he stared at her dumbly before excusing himself from Benjamín kindly and walking past her with a stifled chuckle. She followed him. "Hey, don't hide your amusement from me!" 

"You'll find me not amused at all," he grinned, stopping before a locked door. "But what were you not wanted for?" 

"Chopping fruit and putting it in bowls." 

He snorted. "Sounds like a gruesome task." 

"It very much is," Raquel confirmed with a serious nod, a crinkles creasing on her forehead. He matched her with a set of dimples on his cheeks as well. "You have to hear all the screaming and crying of the poor fruit." 

"It must be ghastly," Sergio hummed with a feigned pout. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Why, though?" 

She furrowed her brows. "Why what?" 

"Why were you not wanted?" 

_ Oh, shit. The hand. Do I want him to beat himself up for it?  _ "It was,"  _ I don't,  _ "because,"  _ I d _ o, "of the hand." 

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," he grabbed the scorched hand before she could so much as blink.  _ Hand touch _ , she gasped with a smile directed at no one in particular. "It looks terrible, I'm so sorry. Does it hurt much?" 

She didn't pull her hand away when she replied, "Not much. It tickles, mostly," she chuckled. A shiver went down her spine when his thumb smoothed the delicate skin. 

"I can't apologize enough," he murmured, staring deeply into her eyes. 

"It's nothing," she attempted weakly. 

He scoffed, a bitter laughter bubbling out of his throat. "It seems like you'll be in my prayers again tonight." 

_ Likewise _ , she grunted to herself, fighting the urge to bite her lip at the prolonged physical contact between them. 

She was about to say something witty, or kind, or even  _ fucking _ stupid when a deep voice cut through their tension like a knife. "Is this how you treat all the women that come into your Church, little brother?" 

_ Oh, that'll be— _ . As soon as her eyes locked with the intruder, her hand dropped from Sergio's and she took three steps back, regretting, just briefly, the lack of a gun on her hip now that she was a mere civilian. "What the fuck are  _ you _ doing here?" 

Andrés de Fonollosa bit into a half-eaten apple with a mocking air about him. "Do I know you?" 

"Uh, Raquel?" Sergio stammered. "Wh-what– This is my brother, Andrés."

"What the  _ fuck _ ?" Raquel turned to the priest as though it were the first time she was seeing him, mouth agape and hands clenching into painful fists. "Why didn't you—?"

Andrés de Fonollosa huffed. "Do I  _ know _ you?" 

Raquel ignored him.  _ I need to get Mónica out of here,  _ she thought,  _ I need to—.  _

A warm hand touched her arm. "Raquel, do you know him? How do you know my brother?" 

Raquel searched for any sign of mockery or arrogance in the priest's eyes. Damned was she for finding nothing but genuine concern writ in his gentle, brown eyes. She struggled to inhale, nodding at Sergio.

"I've never  _ met _ him," she admitted, succumbing into his kindness. She glared, however, at the sleazy man whose eyes seemed so cold compared to Sergio's lost ones, mockery clear. "But he's the fucker that pointed a gun at Mónica's head at the diamond store she worked at."

Sergio' gears worked as he began adding it all up. "The story she told at the restaurant…" 

"Was about Andrés de Fonollosa."

The man in question laughed. The sound of him chewing his apple sent shivers down Raquel's spine, this time far from good. "While I usually adore being spoken of," he said with a grin that could be ever heard in his voice, "I feel like you should specify. I've pointed guns at many people." 

Sergio squared his shoulders. "Andrés… it was the one time you were arrested." 

_ The one time he was arrested?  _ Raquel widened her eyes in shock.  _ How many times has he held people at gunpoint without consequence _ ? 

Suddenly she needed to be very far away. Averting the two brother's eyes, she excused herself. 

"I just remembered," Andrés de Fonollosa's booming voice stopped her in her tracks. "I know you, too,  _ Inspectora.  _ I admire a woman who wishes to lose her years of blooming youth to a dirty profession like the one of a pig." 

Raquel had to be physically restrained by Sergio's hand on her middle before she could add Andrés de Fonollosa to the list of men she's punched or slapped in the past few hours. 

" _ Andrés _ ," Sergio said sternly, "she's a guest. This is not how you should be talking to her." 

Raquel wriggled herself out Sergio's grasp sharply. "Not a  _ pig _ anymore. I quit almost two years ago. Not that it's any of your concern." She paused to spare a glance towards Sergio's mournful face, regret writ across her own features. "It's not your fault for not realizing, but I need to—." 

The doorbell rang so sharply Raquel was physically startled. 

"Shit, I'll get that," the priest mumbled. He raised his hands at the woman in lieu of stopping her in her tracks. "Please stay here. And you," he raised a shaky index at Andrés de Fonollosa, "behave, please.  _ Please. _ " 

As soon as he was out of earshot, Raquel slapped the apple out of Andrés de Fonollosa's hand and raised a finger. "Don't go into the kitchen until we leave, understood? I don't want Mónica to pass out if she sees you." 

"Oh,  _ Inspectora _ , it wasn't kind of you to throw my apple away, " Andrés de Fonollosa chuckled airily, "but don't you worry about me. I promise, I would never do anything that might cause you or your friend  _ any _ harm. In fact," he offered her a hand, "I think we got off on the wrong start."

_ I'm not going to shake his hand.  _

"Trying to murder Mónica is not just a  _ wrong _ start." 

Andrés de Fonollosa nodded, feigning a humbled expression. "And I amend for that. Moreover," he drawled, voice thick with something she could only identify as deep egomania, "I think you'll find that I can be a very interesting person to talk to, once you get over my minor issues." 

She shuddered. The hand still hung ignored. 

The criminal noticed, too, pursing his lips tightly and shaking his head disapprovingly. "Now, now,  _ Inspectora,  _ it's not good manners not to shake someone's hand when it is offered." 

"Cut the crap, Fonollosa." She skipped to the staircase to watch out for her friends, but apart from Benjamín's work friends and Sergio trailing behind them, none of the women seemed to be interested in the upstairs world. When the priest spotted her and smiled, an apology writ all over his features, Raquel couldn't help smiling back like a teenager. 

_ Shut up.  _

Andrés de Fonollosa laughed, making a point to turn directly towards Sergio then back to Raquel. "You're challenging,  _ Inspectora _ , and I trust that you like a good challenge, too?" 

" _ What _ ?" 

"I'm just saying," he smirked, "my brother is a mountain no one has ever been able to climb." The criminal licked his lip provocatively, "but if you do, I'll owe you one. Sergio really deserves someone that'll make him live." 

Raquel shook her head. "You're delusional," she spat. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


"What city name did you choose for me, then?" With a crossed and a smile upon her lips Raquel questioned Ágata. She had come back from upstairs after pretending to watch the plumbing issue for another hour, away from everyone but Sergio who, however, the second time around found more to do, telling them what to touch and what not to. 

She was now in the doorway, leaning against it only by one shoulder. 

Ágata, intent on cleaning everything up now with only Mónica as her help, exchanged conspiratory glances with the other women.

"Don't be upset if you expected something else, but none of us actually got what we  _ wanted _ ," Mónica said. "I got  _ Stockholm _ , as if I fell in love with some capturer or whatever."

Ágata shrugged. "In another life, I can totally see you doing exactly that." 

_ Honestly, I can, too _ , Raquel admitted. 

"And I got  _ Manila _ ," Julia grumbled. "Where the fuck it is even?" 

"In the Philippines. It is the capital of the Philippines," said Sergio. Raquel's breath hitched at his sudden proximity. 

The older Ramos sister rolled her eyes. "I don't see how it relates to me  _ at all."  _

The only happy one seemed to be Silene. "I got  _ Tokyo _ , which is absolutely fucking hot. I love the Japanese. Lovely people. Have I told you about the time I went to Japan, actually?" 

Before she could turn the attention back on herself all over again, Raquel repeated, "What city name did I get?" 

"Oh!" Sergio exclaimed. "Can I guess?" Raquel quirked an eyebrow, sparing him an interested glance. "I think you should be… Lisbon." 

Raquel chuckled. "Why?" 

"I'm not sure, but it's a beautiful city," Sergio shrugged, looking back at the other women with an embarrassed smile. "Did I get it right?" 

"Frankly, we hadn't thought of a city name for Raquel yet," Ágata admitted. "I am Nairobi. But that's because we all already discussed this once." 

Sergio confirmed it with a nod. "We call each other with city names in the house as a joke. Martín is therefore Palermo, Ágata is Nairobi and,"  _ Don't say the name,  _ "my brother is Berlin. Everyone else who comes into our house gets a city name, too, as tradition."

"Yeah," Ágata laughed, "we've had a Helsinki, too, and a Marseille and Oslo. And," her smile turned into a combination of dreamy and annoyed, "a Bogota, too."

_ Oh, they're like a disfunctional family of four.  _

Raquel tilted her head to the side, and her finger poked the priest right in the chest. "What about you? What city are you?"

"Oh," he pushed his glasses up his nose, laughing softly, "I already had a nickname when Ágata moved in. I'm the Professor."

"Professor," Raquel hummed appreciatively, tracing Sergio's stiff body with her eyes.  _ I can see that working. _

Slowly, they all fell into an easy conversation that went neither here nor there. Silene and Julia seemed to have concluded their dumb feud, perhaps for a new challenge; Ágata, now more relaxed, turned on some music and began dancing with Mónica singing along without any understanding of the lyrics.

As the doorbell rang again, this time to show in a bunch of scrawny teenagers, and Sergio went to open the door, Raquel showed herself out without a word, ready to leave with or without a car ride home. Paula couldn't be away from her for  _ this _ long.

Nobody would notice she'd gone anyway.

"Hold up, Raquel!" Sergio called out after her, soon joining her to stand by her side.

_ Yes, Father, _ she thought, winking to no one in particular. "Yes, Father?" 

He smiled weakly. "I don't drive so I can't offer you a ride home, but," he faltered, "I wanted to at least say bye."

Raquel blinked. "Bye."

He breathed raggedly, an awkward smile gracing his lips. "Bye."

They stared at each other in silence, both unmoving. It was her who decided to break the silence. 

"Is there anything else?" she laughed to break the tension.

The priest appeared properly broken out of a trance. "Yes," he breathed. "Uh…" he patted his pants in search for something, attracting Raquel's gaze right where she  _ shouldn't  _ look. "Yes, um, I wanted to give you, uh, this," he stammered, shoving a black, rectangular object into her hand.

The Holy Bible.

She would recognize it from miles away.

"Oh, no, no, no, you can't—."

He waved his hand. "No, it's not  _ that _ . I'm not— I'm not trying to convert you, I wouldn't want that, honestly," he snorted, as if the idea of her being a sudden avid churchgoer and believer never crossed his mind and possibly even repulsed him.  _ Ouch _ . "I am just…" he paused to stare into her eyes. "It's just a book, okay?"

"Father…""

Come on," he tilted his head to the side, pleading her with his eyes. "I've left you some notes and underlined some passages, please."

"It's just," she chuckled, "I think I know how it ends."

"Classic." He nodded knowingly. "But, it might not be a waste of time? Don't think of it as what it is. They're just words. Words that might interest you. Is all."

"Just words," she repeated softly.

He grinned. "Just words." A pause. "I hope to hear what you think, if you ever feel like coming over. I'd like you to come. I really would."

"Likewise to you, if you ever wanna visit my office."

The priest perked up. "I'd love that." 

"Great," she smiled widely, "bye, then." 

"Bye." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so sorry about the length of this chapter and about how much I followed Fleabag, but in my defence... this fic is supposed to be a Fleabag AU, isn't it?
> 
> I wanted to thank you all for the lovely comments and I promise I'll reply to them once I feel like I am freer. I am going on a trip now so I'll feel the burden of this fic A Lot. Hopefully I'll find a way to write. But I am not Greek, I'm sorry. The title was chosen because, well, those are words often used in Catholic hymns. I am Polish/Italian. I'm sorry.
> 
> Anyway, this is for real my first Serquel fic so I really hope you'll appreciate it.


	3. Dinosaurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raquel is surprised by a gift from Father Sergio and, after a pair of interesting meet ups, decides to pay a visit to his house.
> 
> Also, I should have mentioned it before but when Raquel Thinks, she's talking to us. Only we can hear it.

* * *

The water was warm on her tired limbs. It caressed her skin softly, like a lover's fingers, tantalisingly teasing everywhere. It also, unfortunately, smoothed the bathtub behind her, nearly making her topple over and under the pressure. 

Which could _not_ , under any circumstance, happen. She was, after all, holding the Holy Bible in her hand.

Her nipples hardened as she switched her position, the chill of the early evening softly breathing against her skin. She held her breath, as ideas that she shouldn't consider while reading a _Bible_ of all things ran through her head. 

Hooking an arm against the edge of the bathtub and holding the Bible with the other, she immersed herself completely in the words. 

Though at first she'd skipped to the verses he'd underlined for her, curiosity picking at her – what he found inspirational was, after all, also what made him at least in part the person he was, she later found herself reading more.

Out of the proposed ones, _Ephesians 4:32_ was probably her favorite, although she couldn't say she followed it always. _"Be kind and compassionate to one another,"_ it announced, " _forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you."_ Though she hardly believed in God, she'd always found solace in a good man, real or not, like Christ. 

Hopefully Sergio followed this to the letter. 

There was also _Philippians 2:3_ , which criticized _"selfish ambition"_ and _"vain conceit",_ proposing to _"value, in humility, others above yourselves"._ Raquel hoped to follow that advice.

She hoped that she did already.

After some more of these, however, she had grown bored of being _inspired_ and she was now reading it all, word per word. She had already reached, actually, the Deuteronomy which, with all the grace of the Old Testament, spared no one. 

" _If two men, a man and his countryman, are struggling together,_ " read the passage she had just reached. _Starting well_ , she thought, " _and the wife of one comes near to deliver her husband from the hand of the one who is striking him, and puts out her hand and seizes his—."_

Raquel gasped, eyes wide, a hand flying to her mouth. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Once Monday came, time passed in a blur between meetings with clients who sought her advice or lack of judgment and preparations for her mother's wedding which included buying flowers, preparing the venue, closing in on deals about the clothes, and soon it was Friday again – a day slower than she could ever have anticipated. 

She hadn't seen Sergio in days – five or six, if one considered Friday as well, to be exact, not that she was counting, and her sister hadn't called to make sure she was faring well with a _lawsuit_ on her back. Luckily, Alberto didn't contact her either to try and pry an apology out of her, which she took for a moment of peace before the storm. 

With Paula out of school for the month of July, the girl now came with her to the office, which meant that _Sofia_ also did. 

_Sofia is a guinea pig_ , Raquel brought the fluffy animal to her chest awkwardly. _Ángel, whom we do not discuss, bought it for Paula after the divorce shortly before his passing. She's, frankly, a much better animal than Alberto ever was, so she's a better deal._

Although the girl enjoyed playing with her for an hour or two, now that they had been in the office for almost four, Paula had decided to go play on the computer, leaving Raquel to deal with Sofia instead.

Luckily, if the sun rays peeking in through the close curtains were any indication, lunchtime was nearing. 

Raquel sighed in relief. 

She let her head sink into the soft cushions of her office armchair, eyes closed to merge herself in with the surrounding sounds and sensations: the warm summer breeze stroking her exposed arms; the fresh air clearing her lungs; the coolness of the armchair beneath her forearms; the birds chirping outside rejoicing a Summer already fully at its peak; the sound of—. 

Someone was knocking at the door.

Her eyes widened open and for a moment she faltered, before calling out tentatively, "Yes?" 

"It's me, Sergio— Father Sergio," came Sergio's voice and her heart skipped a beat. She straightened herself on the chair, and smoothed the wrinkles on her pants. 

With one last brush to her hair, she said, "Come," _for me,_ "in, Father."

The door creaked as he stepped inside, a bashful look on his face that turned into a mesmerized one as his eyes took in the sight of the small guinea pig in Raquel's arms.

"Hi, Raquel," he breathed, staring at the animal with such curiosity he might combust any minute. "What is _that?_ " 

"Good morning, Father. A guinea pig. Her name's Sofia. What brings you to my office?"

The priest smiled weakly, pushing his glasses up his nose. _I still can't tell if I find his tic incredibly annoying or adorable._ "I–I, um, wanted to see your office, is all."

Raquel arched her eyebrows, her head cocked to the side. "Oh, is that all?" She crossed her legs, making sure it got his attention, then added sweetly, "Well, you've seen it. You can go now, Father."

A flush crept up his neck and up his face. He averted her gaze. "God," he chuckled, "this is weird. With everyone…" he waved his hands as he walked towards the armchair opposite her but, she noted, didn't sit down, "It's weird when you call me Father."

"Weird? Oh, _Father_ , why is it weird?"

He breathed in harshly, shaking his head. "How did you even manage to get such a good office? Don't misunderstand me, I'm not implying you're _poor_ , but I know divorces can cost quite a fortune — my brother _has_ been through five — so—." 

"Father Martín gave me a down-payment," _He did, about a year ago,_ "and publicised my office well enough to draw many people in." 

"Father Martín? Oh, God," he pinched the bridge of his nose, an exasperated look on his face, "don't tell me Berrote. Please, don't let it be Berrote."

"It _was_ Berrote… Is _he_ the Father Martín that lives with you? That organized that movie night on Saturday then bailed last minute on the preparations?" 

She couldn't say she was surprised. _Classic Berrote._

Sergio's shoulders slumped. "That's the one. How did he even come to give you money? He's not particularly rich." _Probably stole it._ "Unless it was stolen." 

"No! Don't ruin my beautiful office by saying he _stole_ money." She scoffed. "He was a good sponsor." 

"Why did he even sponsor you?" 

"Because I'm a beautiful woman that attracted his attention?" she batted her eyelashes innocently. _He's gay, so that wouldn't have worked on him._ She sighed to Sergio. "We met while I was on a silent retreat and he on a mission to cure his misogyny." 

_It didn't work that well._

"Oh!" he laughed awkwardly. "I forced him to go on that. With Ágata coming to live with us, I didn't want him spewing bullshit." 

"You did the right thing. But, less about me, Father," she said in a serious tone. "We have an issue." 

He startled, looking to her with an alarmed look in his small eyes. "What?" 

"You still haven't sat down and you're way too tall to watch you while sitting. My neck is straining." 

"Crap, sorry. Better now?" She nodded, allowing her eyes to to observe the way he carefully sat, his legs barely spread and his fingers interlaced in lieu of prayer. "This chair is quite comfortable."

"And yet," she said slowly, arching only one eyebrow, "you're not sitting comfortably."

He smirked, tilting his head to the side. "How does one sit comfortably?"

_Oh, this is my element._

"For one, a man usually spreads his legs further apart, either to express dominance or to simply let his _jewels_ ," _Jewels! Oh, he's sweating,_ "breathe. Moreover," she leaned forward in her chair, "you're playing with your thumbs and I can see your knuckles quite clearly because of how tightly you're holding your hands together. Not to mention," she eyed him with a smirk, "your posture is hard as fuck. It's as though your shoulders have never relaxed in their lives, always tense, always exhausted of working for you."

"Whew," he chuckled, "oh, you're great at this." 

Raquel shrugged, trying to hide the smile that crept in on her face. "It's just my job." 

"A job you're great at." 

She waved his compliment away. "Shut up. Is this why you came here? To compliment me and to stare longingly at my guinea pig instead of asking me, outright, to let you hold her?" 

"And," he raised his index with a soft grin, "to ask about your office, as I've told you." 

She gave him the guinea pig with a roll of her yes. "Just hold her." 

Surprisingly for a man that she would swear wouldn't actually like animals, he held Sofia with utter joy writ across his face, grinning and chuckling like a teenager. 

"What do guinea pigs even _do?_ " he stared deep into the guinea pig's bulbous eyes. 

"Oh," she laughed, "they're born, they eat and shit themselves to death."

Sergio lowered the guinea pig onto his lap and nodded approvingly. "A smarter existence than the one of humans, wouldn't you say?" She blinked, sensing that he had more to say. "Less sorrow, less suffering, less doubts." 

"Seems like a more agreeable existence indeed," she confirmed firmly, allowing herself to explore such an absurd thought deep in her heart. "Are there any particular sorrows, any particular pain or doubts that you're thinking of, Father?" 

He bit his lower lip, squaring his jaw. "Nothing in particular." 

"Now," she tsked disapprovingly, "You shouldn't lie at a therapy session." 

"What? Oh, no, no, no," he shook his head firmly, "I didn't come here for a therapy session. I assure you, I do enough talking about my problems to God, I don't need anyone else." 

_Ouch._

"Why did you come here, then," she stared straight into his eyes, "apart from wanting to see my office? It's a long enough trip for a task so feasible." 

"Oh! yes!" the priest slapped his forehead, and he wriggled on the chair to pull out an envelope out of his back pocket. "I almost forgot, but take it," he smiled, anticipation suddenly tinted in his voice, "It's a gift."

Raquel narrowed her eyes. "It's not my birthday." She couldn't however sustain the excitement that bubbled up within her as she opened the envelope. "Please, don't let it be money." 

He scoffed. "Just look." When she stared at him, refusing to look into it, he eyed her pleadingly, "Please?" 

"Fine," she relented, pulling the contents slowly, the smile on her lips growing bigger as she released what she was holding. "Oh my God. Two tickets to the National Museum of Natural Sciences," she whispered, then frowned. "Next Wednesday? But that's my daughter's birthday." 

"I know. For her birthday. One ticket for you, one for your daughter," he said, a tentative smile on his lips. "Do you like it?" 

She stared at the tickets in shock, unable to retort, her head only able to bob a single nod. 

"I just— well, I noticed how disappointed you looked when you realized your mother had given you tickets for the wrong day and, and," he stammered, a hand on the nape of his neck, "I wanted to see you happy. And, and! Your daughter's birthday party is in the afternoon so I figured you could—." 

"Father," she paused him by leaning forward and laying a hand on his twitching leg, "Thank you." 

He smiled. "So you like it?" She nodded, grinning widely. "I wasn't sure if you actually did."

Looking down at the tickets again, an idea popped into her head. "Why don't you come with us?" 

"What?" 

"To the museum." He appeared properly terrified, so she rushed to add, "You don't have to, if you don't want to, or if you have anything to do, of course." 

"I just wouldn't want to intrude on a family moment." 

Raquel waved her hand. "Nonsense. She adores you and," she smiled, "I'd like you to come. Come on, it has _dinosaur skeletons._ Don't you just love dinosaurs? You look like the type of guy that would." 

"Never have I liked them," he lied. 

She leaned back on her chair. "What have I told you about lying?" When he rushed in to argue about the nature of this meeting, she raised her hand, "Don't think of it as a therapy session, if it makes you uncomfortable. Think of it as something familiar – don't priests ever speak to other priests about their problems?" 

"Their _sins._ In confession." 

A glimmer sparked in her eyes. "Confess your sins to me, then, Father." 

"Confession can only be done by a—," under her glowering gaze, he raised his hands defensively, "Alright, alright, what do you want me to talk about?"

She pretended to think. "Tell me about your obsession with dinosaurs." 

"It's not an _obsession_ ," _Oh, it's definitely an obsession,_ "but I do like them quite a lot. I was fascinated by their fossils when I was little. I can even fashion dinosaur origami out of paper!" 

"Origami!" she grinned, nodding appreciatively, "I must _absolutely_ see one of them. And you definitely must gift Paula one. She's obsessed with dinosaurs like you." 

"I'm not obsessed." 

"She says so, too," Raquel winked.

"But yes, I can absolutely gift her one. Even six, if you want. I can make different kinds, actually," he perked with each word, listing all the possible types of dinosaurs he could make out of paper. 

"I'll take a velociraptor and a T-Rex, I think. They're Paula's favorites, because her influence was _Jurassic Park,_ of course, which Daniel must have her let her watch," _on the few times I left her at his and Mónica's house instead of hiring a babysitter_. 

He smiled. "I can totally make her those dinosaurs. I'll put extra care in, for her. What's her favorite color?" 

"Red, absolutely." 

"Great color. Bold." He paused, locking his gaze with hers. "Red fits you, as well, Raquel." 

She averted his gaze, and cleared her throat. "How did you learn to make origami?" 

He faltered, stroking Sofia's little head to allow himself a moment to think. "I was a sickly and lonely child with only books to keep me company," he said briefly and before Raquel could so much as think of pressing it further, her phone buzzed from across the room. 

She stood up to pick it up, resenting whoever was disturbing her. 

Silene's name popped up. _Get ready for the drink today,_ said the text, _Alicia says she just locked a great case and wants to celebrate with you, at 6pm._

A few seconds later another message. _I'll send you the coordinates of the bar she chose._

A pause. 

_Paula will stay at Mónica's. Cancel all your your appointments for the afternoon._

Another buzz. _Wear that leather skirt that compliments your ass._

Raquel frowned at the phone. "Fuck." 

"Something's wrong?"

She considered lying, but under his scrutinising gaze, she sighed her defeat, "I have to see this lawyer—." 

"Lawyer? Why?" 

She broke down. "Alberto is filing a lawsuit against me for assaulting a police officer and he's trying to use my restraining order for him _against me._ Because I punched him." 

"What the _fuck?_ He can't do that, can he?" 

_He surely shouldn't._

"He's a cop, he can do anything," she admitted sadly, staring at her phone to avoid his soft gaze. "And Sierra, the lawyer, who will supposedly only try to scare him off for now, agreed to help me only on the condition I go on a drink with her, and Silene's just told me it's today, so I have to cancel _all_ my appointments and drop Paula off at Mónica's to make it all work."

She hadn't even noticed him standing up, so when he laid a gentle hand on her arm she nearly jumped. His voice was warm when he spoke, "Pardon me saying this, but that lawyer shouldn't be fucking taking advantage of your situation." 

Raquel couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out. "Oh, you're sweet. But don't lawyers always take advantage of other people's situations?" 

"You're right," he admitted sadly. "But you deserve to be helped by someone who wouldn't take advantage of you." 

She chuckled bitterly. "Who?"

"Me." She arched her eyebrows. "I don't know how, but I would." With a wink, he added, "I have God by my side after all." 

Raquel squeezed the hand that was on her shoulder with a tearful smile, nodding. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Going out for a _drink_ with Alicia turned out to be a scam, as when they sat down on their table, food was ordered.

The table Alicia had chosen – because it had been up to her where to sit, or even what to eat – was far enough in a corner to actually allow Raquel to relax, at least. The seats were cushioned from head to toe and comfortable, and the table itself was semicircular, apparently to allow the utmost of intimacy between partners.

It was not exactly the type of bar Raquel would choose. It wafted of weed mingled with the sweat of couples that took the intimate setting too far and the sweetness of the alcohol.

 _Funnily enough,_ she thought, _this bar is so close to Sergio's church and even closer to his house, so that when I passed by it I almost bailed on this date and began praying._

Wearing the black leather skirt and a sexy pink and black shirt, however, she doubted she'd be allowed inside. Both inside the church and in Sergio's house.

 _This bar isn't too bad, you know,_ she lied to herself, an attempt to hide the scowl on her face being made as the lawyer, drink after drink, forgot her own _standards._

 _She's great, actually,_ Raquel informed, grinning at the woman half-stretched on the seat. Unprofessional as she was, she looked incredibly hot in the green dress she had upon herself, which complimented her red hair and her blue-green eyes. _She can pull off a dress._

She paused, as the woman began recounting a funny anecdote which, apparently, needed her to scratch Raquel's wrist. _More of this and she'll be straddling my lap to pull off my clothes._

 _She's funny, though,_ she grimaced as the story went on.

"The woman wept so hard snot came flying out of her nose right in the middle of the court!" laughed Alicia, a spark in her eyes. "Everyone tried to avert their gazes and she struggled for minutes to clean herself."

_She's a self-proclaimed feminist._

"I gave her a tissue to clean her nose when nobody did, of course. You know how I hate to see women crying," she pouted, batting her eyelashes innocently before throwing her head back with laughter.

 _She's a bit controlling,_ Raquel thought as she reached for a small tomato.

"Don't eat that," said Alicia.

 _But it's manageable._ "I will."

"Okay."

 _We still haven't talked about my case and at this point I don't think we will,_ Raquel lamented, groaning into her glass of margarita. Unlike Alicia, she hadn't drunk much, feeling like it might be stepping on muddy waters. 

_She can be surprising, though._ "Every woman I have been with squirted." 

Raquel arched her eyebrows in surprise, sipping her margarita. "I don't squirt." 

"That's because you haven't had sex with me, honey," the tipsy lawyer slurred. When Alicia's manicured hand came to rest intrusively on Raquel's thigh, she jerked away from the touch. 

"I'm sure you're right," she smiled forcibly. _She's surely terrible in bed._

"I'm great in bed." 

_She definitely is the worst._

"I am spectacular in bed." 

Raquel hummed and turned a deaf ear to the rest of the rambling. The woman's egomania made her capable of speaking of anything uninterrupted and all she asked for was a nod, a laugh or hum from Raquel to be satisfied. 

After over an hour of this torture, Raquel couldn't keep on ignoring what she had come for. 

"Alicia," she said firmly. The glare the lawyer shot her for being interrupted in the middle of yet another tirade would have sent shivers down her spine normally, but it only ignited her fire. "I came here to discuss my case, not to listen to how much joy it brings you to cause people pain." 

Alicia feigned offense, a hand flying to her mouth. "You make me sound so cruel. I was only trying to take things slow, as I like it, sweetheart." 

"You can edge people in bed, Alicia," she tsked, "but don't edge me now. You're fun, but you're not _that_ fun." 

Alicia smirked. "I _can_ edge." A pause. "Tell me why I should help you, then. Convince me, shrink." 

"Shouldn't— no, you're right." She breathed in sharply, trying to tame her frustration. This situation called for old habits. _I wish I had a pencil right now._ Waiting a few beats to calm down fully, she said sweetly, "Alicia, I need your help." 

"With what?" 

_Roleplay, then. Alright._

"l punched my abusive ex-husband who violated the restraining order I put on him. Now I am in dire need of help." 

Alicia feigned a gasp. "A _restraining order?_ What for?" 

_I don't want to tell her._ It was edging territory she didn't like to uncover, with anyone, and surely not with a tipsy stranger. _I'm not going to be specific_. "He wasn't exactly a kind husband." 

"What did he do exactly?" 

Raquel's nostrils flared. "I don't see how that is helpful at all right now." 

The woman cocked her head to the side with a dark look in her eyes. "You're not doing a great job at convincing me to help you with that attitude. Frankly, I might be inclined to just drop it and let you deal with it alone." 

"Then maybe you should do just that." 

"Now, now," Alicia tsked. "Don't do that. I'm still waiting for you to convince me. You better not jump off the bridge before checking if there's water below." 

_Oh,_ Raquel snorted, _she's a poet now, too._

"You're right," she smiled. "I'm sorry, Alicia. The thing is, I'm so alone in this. But so many things are at stake, here."

"Like what?" 

She took a sharp intake of breath. "I could lose custody of my daughter. And I can't. I can't lose custody of Paula. And I'm afraid that if he takes it to court, I will." 

For the first time in the entire night, the woman looked at her with something genuine in her eyes that wasn't selfishness or self-love. "You won't lose your daughter." 

Tears pricked in her eyes. "Can you promise?" 

Alicia pursed her lips, nodding. "Yes." Then she straightened and smiled, "Now, for the down-payment—." 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


"Blood-sucking lawyer! Filthy fucking scum of the earth!" Raquel screamed into the phone, her voice cracking. Her lower lip was trembling with emotion and she couldn't hold her phone still enough. "Always– always preying on our weaknesses, _using_ us." 

_"Raquel, what happened?"_ Although she'd called Silene, it was Mónica speaking to her, concern clear in her voice. _"What did that lawyer do?"_ Softly, directed not at Raquel, the blonde added, _"Didn't you suggest that friend of yours? The, the… what's her name?"_

"Alicia Sierra," Raquel gritted, wiping angrily at the lone tear streaming down her cheek. 

_"Yeah, Alicia_ ," said Silene, _"What the fuck did she do?"_

Raquel inhaled deeply, easing her breaths into a proper rhythm. "She asked for a down-payment of 1000 euros for the scare she's supposed to send him, and then 150 euros per hour, these two hours in the bar _included_." 

Silene swore loudly into the phone. _"That was not what we'd agreed to! I'll talk to her, try to convince her to make you pay less, because you're a friend of a friend."_

"Oh," Raquel laughed bitterly, "she said she's already doing me a favor by making me pay 150 euros per hour. Which, by the way, I looked up, is the fucking norm."

 _"But Raquel_ , _"_ came Mónica's concerned voice, _"did you even have 1300 euros to give her right now?"_

Raquel swallowed thickly. "I don't have a badly paying job." _Although Sergio was right, the custody battle along with the divorce in general have been sucking me dry._ "But I only paid her 300 and refused her further help." 

_"What are you going to now?"_ Silene voiced all their concerns. _"I promised you wouldn't—."_

"I'll beg him if I have to." She chuckled airily, shaking her head. "No, I don't know. I'll figure something out. But I won't take her other offer, of that I'm sure." 

A brief silence stretched on the other line, then Mónica spoke very carefully, _"What other offer?"_

Raquel grimaced. "She said she won't ask for the down-payment if I give her special therapy sessions. Physical therapy.

Mónica gasped on her other end and if she had been there, a look of disgust would surely have been on her face, along with horror and anger. _"She can't do that. You're not a whore."_

 _"Is being a whore such a bad thing, though?"_ countered Silene. _"Sex can be a very useful thing. And she's genuinely good in bed."_

"I'm not selling my body to win a case." 

_"I would have done it for you, normally, but, well… "_

Raquel rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't have let you sell your—."

"Raquel?" Ágata cheerful voice interrupted her from the other end of the street, the sound of which growing as the woman approached her. "I'm sorry if I interrupted something important, I was just…" 

Raquel waved her hand, shaking her head firmly. "No. I was just talking to Mónica and Silene about… It's a long story." 

"Say hi to them from me!" 

Raquel did as asked, then closed the call before they could reply. A tired look crept on her face before she could hide it behind a smile. Ágata instantly noticed, squeezing her cheek kindly and nodding. 

"Let's go for a drink and you'll tell me what's wrong, shall we?" 

The older woman glanced at the bar she had just exited in horror. "Not _there,_ I hope." 

Ágata scoffed. "Who do you take me for? I was thinking of a bar that might be, well, more people friendly, frankly. That one is…" she shuddered exaggeratedly. "Never stepping foot in that again. Made the mistake once and I'd rather forget it." 

"Agreed. Take me somewhere better, then," she paused for a wink, "Nairobi, and I'll tell you everything." 

"As you wish, Lisbon. I hope the story is long enough." 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


"So _that's_ how you met Father Sergio?" Ágata slapped her hand of the counter, laughing loudly. "He never told me you were the one that got him the bruise!"

Raquel winced. "I'm not very proud of that but he did get back at me with that tea." The hand was healing rather well, a pinkish hue only at the top.

"Oh, he's been sulking about that for days." She grinned, sipping some of her non-alcoholic cocktail. "Trust me, not a day goes by that he doesn't mutter to Father Martín or Andrés or I, 'I hope Raquel's hand is alright' and while I can be kind, Andrés and Father Martín tease him."

 _She surely teases him, too._ Raquel arched an eyebrow.

"Fine, I tease him, too," Ágata relented. "But you should have seen the look on his face once when I asked him if he had tried kissing your hand better! He was absolutely _red_ in the face, properly crimson." She laid her chin on the backs of her hands, propping herself against the counter to grin at Raquel. "I think he won't be doing any kissing with you."

Raquel widened her eyes in shock. "I wasn't hoping for him to do that!"

_Sure fucking was._

Ágata waved her hand. "Oh, please. We've all been there. But for what it's worth, if he does, I doubt he will burst into flames. Although I can't say that for sure, he's very strict about his rules."

"I really _am not_ trying to kiss him " When Ágata opened her mouth to tease her further, she added, "Or fuck him. He's a priest and I have enough problems as is."

"That you do." The younger woman tipped her glass towards Raquel's and clinked them together, urging her to drink at the same time. 

As the liquid was downed all at once and the buzz finally traveled up into her head, Raquel felt herself relax. For a few minutes, Ágata even gave Raquel some peace, to think, just the two of them sitting and ordering another mojito for Raquel and a can of coke for Ágata.

It was then that a question arose in the older woman's mind and before she could stop herself, she said, "We've known each other, what, a year?"

"A year," the woman confirmed.

Raquel hummed. "A year. And I only now find out you live with two priests. _Why?_ "

"Why you're finding out only now or why am I living with them?"

Raquel tipped her glass with a nod. "Both."

For a brief moment as a serious look crept on Ágata's features and her eyes darkened, Raquel thought the woman might ignore her, but then her shoulders slumped and she nodded to herself. "I used to be in prison. I'm on parole for another five months or so. And I agreed to live with two priests because they'll put a good word on my behalf when the time to get back my son comes."

Raquel's throat dried. "Son? What's his name?"

"Axel. His name is Axel. You know, for axe," she chuckled sadly. "Because he's like an axe."

"Axe," Raquel repeated in a daze.

"Yeah," Ágata sighed, the tips of her fingernails trailing across the glass. "And I lost him, because…" she paused for a sharp intake of breath.

Raquel laid a hand on hers and squeezed it. "You don't have to tell me if it's hard," she whispered.

Ágata shook her head firmly. "No, I want to." She paused again, two lone tears streaming down each cheek. "I used to be a drug dealer, sometimes, to pay the bills. I was the reason some people got addicted to drugs and possibly ended up in jail, too. And one day," her voice cracked, "I left my three-and-a-half years old son alone. Just for five minutes, just to sell some drugs. But he was a feisty one."

Raquel put a hand on her mouth, already expecting what was to come.

"He got on top of a chair, because he wanted to be Spiderman and all. And he screamed ' _Mama, mama!'_." Ágata inhaled sharply. "In a matter of seconds the police came, and the child services came. I had no job, I already had been arrested a few times for minor theft. They immediately sent me to jail and took him from me."

"How long ago was that?" Raquel asked softly.

"Will be three years ago by now." She stared at the wall of alcohol before them, a distant look in her eyes. "I lost him because I was a bad mother."

"You weren't a bad mother, and even if you were," she carefully paused, smiling to convey the message that she was not trying to insult her at all, "you paid for it. You served your sentence and you're now trying to reintegrate into society. It's not entirely your fault."

"I tried finding a better job," Ágata admitted weakly, "but there weren't any jobs that could pay me well enough to hire a babysitter and, ironically, I felt like I couldn't leave him alone. The one time I got close to having a proper job, they turned me down at the last minute."

"Was it because of your record?" Ágata nodded. "And your family? Are your parents both dead?"

Ágata squared her jaw. "No. My mother is alive and married to a _piece of shit_ who would… hurt my son when he cried, because it annoyed him. That's why I had to take him away from her house."

"Fuck." 

"Fuck, indeed." 

"So you rely entirely on Fathers Sergio and Martín proving that you're now good?" 

The young woman nodded sadly, pursing her lips. "It's a tough life relying on them. Mostly Father Martín." _Cheers to that._ After a pause, Ágata glanced at Raquel and grimaced. "I'll understand if you now won't want to leave Paula with me. I should have told you—." 

"Hey, hey, now. None of that. You've always been exceptional with her and I trust you completely – but you have been watching Doctor Who with her, haven't you?" 

Ágata bared all her teeth. "It's an educational show for kids!" 

"Oh, she made me watch an episode with her on Sunday and it didn't sound very educational when those monsters were screaming," she changed her voice into a deeper and more metallic one, " _Kill! Kill! Kill!_ " 

The younger woman chuckled. "It's _Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!"_

"You would know. She keeps screaming that and imitating dinosaurs when she can. You're a bad, bad influence." 

"I'll have you know," laughed the younger woman, poking her finger at the air playfully, "it wasn't me who introduced Jurassic Park to her. She told me _all_ about the movie night with Cinci during which she saw the beauty of dinosaurs." 

"I know, Daniel must have put it on."

Ágata smirked. "You know who else likes dinosaurs?" 

"Father Sergio," they simultaneously said. The younger woman's eyebrows rose at that, a curious gleam sparking in her beautiful dark eyes. 

"How do _you_ know?" 

"I've gotten to know him a little. He came to my office today, suit and tie," _and a properly trimmed beard and soft hair,_ she batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to fan herself, "and basically told me the _entire_ tale of how he fell in love with dinosaurs."

"Father Sergio came to your office?" The woman pushed herself away from Raquel with exaggerated force, gaping at her with wide eyes. "What would he do that for?"

"Oh, nothing. He just," she bit her lower lip to suppress her smile, "wanted to give my daughter a gift for her birthday next Wednesday. Two tickets to the National Museum of Natural Sciences." 

"Like the one you told me your mother got the date wrong on." 

"That's the one." 

Ágata whistled. "Wish people flirted," _flirted?_ "with me like that. It feels like I'm past my flirting age at only 33."

"Oh, please. You're young! What had Jesus done by 33, huh?" 

"Died?" 

"Exactly! And you're gorgeous, and sweet," Raquel squeezed her hand, reveling in the soft skin beneath her thumb, "and you have _amazing_ skin."

"Are _you_ flirting with me?" Ágata laughed. 

The buzz in Raquel's head was telling her to just fuck it, to nod. "I'm going with the flow," she mumbled, grinning widely at the younger woman's surprised guffaw. 

"Oh, Lisbon, dear, I wish you were my type," she whispered, squeezing her cheek softly. 

"Crap, you're straight, I'm sorry."

Ágata scoffed. "As if." 

"I'm too old for you, then," she pouted, slurping on her mojito to hide her mild disappointment. 

"It's not that," she scoffed again, this time playfully slapping Raquel's cheek. "You're tipsy and I'm just not into people who have somebody else on their mind." 

_Ouch._ "I don't—."

"Don't give me that crap, now." Though she glared there was no anger in her eyes, only badly suppressed excitement. 

"I just—." 

"Go flirt with him right now." When Raquel frowned, opening her mouth to argue about the _many_ wrong implications of this, Ágata smothered her mouth with her hand and shushed her. "Don't give me any excuses. Your daughter? I'll take care of her, or Stockholm and Tokyo," _calling them with city names, too, I see,_ "will. Just go." 

Raquel sighed twice before resigning herself to Ágata's invitations, a jolly feeling in the depths of her heart. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


With her handbag over her shoulder, sweating with the heat of the summer night and slightly tipsy on the mojitos and the one margarita, Raquel rang the bell on Sergio's door for an embarrassingly long time. 

It was only when she heard the light switching on the other side of the door and a soft grunt as someone bumped into a heavy object, that she laid her hand to rest. 

She sighed in anticipation, trying to suffocate the feeling of excitement she was feeling. 

A few moments later, the door opened and Sergio's face peaked out, confused. 

"Hi," he croaked out, voice thick with sleep. 

"Hi, sorry!" she widened her eyes, taking in on his ruffled, messy hair and his striped, grandpa pajamas. "I didn't have your number and you said I could come see your origami anytime."

Sergio caressed his face with a deep sigh, nodding. "Yeah, yeah, I did. I'm sorry, it's just— it's rather embarrassing, but recently I've really been enjoying going to bed at 9.30." 

Raquel couldn't contain the laughter. "Shit. I can come back another time?" 

"No, no," he waved his hand, pushing his glasses up his nose after properly scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "You've come all the way here, you shouldn't just go."

"Yeah, I just fancied those origami," _and a priest_ , "and a chat about the Bible you've forced me to read, maybe?" 

He perked up. "You've read it, then?" 

"Not all of it," she raised her hands, "so don't spoil anything, please." 

"You'll have to dictate the conversation, then." With that said, he moved aside to allow her inside, an awkward but genuine smile upon his lips. "But we'll have to be quiet because Martín gets cranky in the evenings." 

"What does he _do_?" 

Sergio shrugged. "Mostly calculations. He used to be a mathematician before becoming a priest." 

_A what?_ "Why did he even become a priest?"

"Oh," he turned his back on her as he led her into the kitchen, "you won't like the answer." 

She furrowed her brows, a heavy hand under her chin. "Why?" 

The priest heaved a sigh, and urged her to sit on the cushioned table seats which appeared to be the best in the house, as there wasn't much else to sit on. "He did it for my brother." 

Raquel snorted, following the man with her eyes as he wandered around looking for something. "How would he be helping your brother by— _oh_." She paused, grimacing. "He wasn't sure you'd help him on parole." 

Sergio laid two glasses on the kitchen table. "Tequila?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well," he sighed as he poured a generous amount, "I didn't exactly condone his actions. Or rather," he pushed a glass towards Raquel, "I condoned his idea of planning heists, and making them happen. But he always had to _hurt_ people, and that I didn't like." 

"Not to approve of his methods, Father, but how could you ever rob a bank or a jewelry without using any violence?" 

Sergio appeared properly confused by her question. "By meticulously planning. You _can_ plan a cruelty free heist, one in which you might not even need to _steal_ anything. It might take years to plan," he amended, "but it could be a masterpiece." 

Raquel tilted her head to the side. "Have you been thinking a lot about this?" 

"Yeah. I was not exactly a rich child, and I needed treatment that could only be found in the United States," he admitted, darkness looming over him. "A cruelty-free heist could have given me enough money to avoid all those years of suffering." 

"Tell me about it, then. About this heist you've been planning but will never go through with." 

He smirked, a sudden spark in his eyes. "What tells you I won't go through with it?" 

"Oh, _I'm_ telling you," she scoffed with a playful grin, "because unless you're planning to let me in on it as the co-leader I am definitely stealing it from you." 

He feigned a gasp. "Then I must not tell you. We cannot compromise the validity of my future heist, after all." 

"Tell you what, if you tell me everything I will promise not to steal it from you," she said solemnly. 

"I think I'll need more than a promise." 

She flashed him a cheeky grin. "What, a kiss?" 

The fierce blush that colored his neck and cheeks was a tantalising sight to her heavy mind. _I wonder if he gets all hot and bothered during sex, too._

"I'll just— I'll just have to take your promise at face value, then," he stammered, downing the shot of tequila with a grimace.

The heist he had planned truly was a work of art. From his idea to hire former criminals with nothing to lose, that had been hurt by society to the idea of not exactly stealing but printing their own, unmarked money, to his idea of getting them out through an unknown tunnel and giving them all new lives elsewhere. Somewhere where society didn't know them and wouldn't hurt them as the Spanish government did. 

He had some rules, too, like the lack of personal information spread around the members which she understood, but also criticised by reminding him that, sometimes, information can be spread by third parties.

"If, for example," she told him, her speech slurred but her mind running wild with the beauty of his idea, "they were to find out one of their mates is deadly ill, or has snitched in the past, they might be more disinclined to trust them _after_ having known them for months than if they had found out early on." 

Though he had no notebook where to sign her suggestions, he clearly took it in. 

"Don't hire someone who can't keep a level head," she also said, thinking of individuals like Silene who, in a heist, would only prove to be a nuisance, "or who might fall in love too fast." 

"Noted," the priest hummed approvingly, lips pursed. "Anything else you think might go to shit unless I change it?" 

"Well," she pretended to think about it. "I think your heist has too few women in it. And believe it or not, a place full of men can be a _nightmare."_

This seemed to give him a pause. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to step on… contaminated territory," _Oh, he's about to fuck it all up,_ "but isn't it more likely for relationships to develop if there are more women?" 

_Oof, okay, this is manageable._ "Yes, but there can be relationships between men, too, and between women. You should just hire people who are less likely to break the rules." 

Sergio nodded. "People who _do_ have something to lose, then. But with more to gain if they follow the rules and the money is gathered." 

Raquel clapped her hands. "Now you get it!" After a pause, she added, "God, for a second I thought you were going to talk about menstruation cycles." 

"Ah," he winced, "I've already had that talk with Ágata and I now understand that… well, the reservations I might have had were… shitty." 

"Good." 

"But," he staggered up, raising an index, "enough about me. You came here to, to," he frowned comically, the struggle writ upon his face as clear as day – she couldn't help but laugh, pure joy bubbling out. He hadn't drank much, only one shot, but the combination of interrupted sleep and tequila must have worked wonders on his mind. "Oh, you came here to discuss the Bible!" 

Raquel giggled. "Wouldn't that be just talking about you again?" 

"Shit, you're right. I'm sorry, there was something else, then…" 

"No. I mean, there was, but, I do genuinely have some questions about the Bible," she admitted. "First of all, I must congratulate it on the great twists." 

"Oh, it does have some fun ones."

"But I just, I couldn't help but notice one or two… inconsistencies and I need to point them out, Father, I need to." 

He sat back down, narrowing his eyes at her. "Inconsistencies? Okay, sure, do tell." 

"Adam and Eve were the only people on Earth, right?"

"Well, not exactly, no." 

"Not exactly!" she scoffed. "The Bible says they were the only ones." He allowed it with a wave of his hand. "Alright, so, when they had children, one died and… did the other one have sex with his mother to birth other people or?" 

"No! Well, I'm not sure," he laughed. "There must have been other people there, though!" 

"But they're never mentioned all too clearly! So what I'm reading here is that the Bible glamorizes incest!"

"God, that's— yeah."

"And, and," she used her hand to emphasize the importance of what she was about to say, "this was in the first pages, okay? So, God created the world in seven days and on the first day light came, and on the third…" she paused, pursing her lips, "the sun came." 

Sergio paused, index in the air. His eyes narrowed as he thought. _Gears, once again gears._ "Yeah, that's ridiculous." 

Raquel laughed freely, pointing an accusing finger at him. "But you believe that!" 

"It's not _fact_ , Raquel. You can't believe it word for word. It's poetry, or music. It can make little sense, but it's all to interpretation." His fingers drew out his thought across the surface of the kitchen table. "It's about interpreting God's plan for us!" 

She leaned back in her seat, trying to take him all in. Her voice serious and solemn, she questioned, "And what's God's plan for you?" 

"I believe," Sergio averted her gaze, gazing down at his fingers, "God meant for me to love people differently. I believe I'm supposed to love people as a Father." 

Raquel quirked her eyebrows. "We can arrange that." 

"A Father of many," he rectified. 

"I already have Paula but I'll agree to have two more." 

The priest sighed despite the chuckle bubbling out of his throat. "It's not going to happen." 

"Alright, only one more then." 

Silence enveloped them. Sergio could only shake his head, chuckling. A blush colored his cheeks and his tired eyes glistened in the yellowish light of the kitchen. Raquel couldn't take her eyes off him, didn't want to. 

Suddenly, the light in his eyes sparked more as his eyes widened and he stood up abruptly. "Origami! You wanted to see my dinosaur origami! Oh, I'll be right back!" 

Taking his lack of invitation to follow her as a cue to stay in her seat, Raquel thought of walking behind him. As soon she stood up, however, the entire world began swaying and she instantly sat back down. 

_Alcohol is a curse_ , she muttered. 

Three loud bumps, one whine and a string of curses by Martín later, Sergio appeared downstairs with a tray of red dinosaur origami, a sheepish look in his eyes. 

"We'll have to go into the garden," he explained, "because Martín noticed the light downstairs and he can be quite a tyrant." 

Raquel nodded, latching onto his arm. "You'll have to help me walk," she whispered into his ear and relished into the way he shivered. "I've been drinking more or less for three hours now." 

"Right." 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


"Should I go back to being a Catholic?"

They were sitting outside now, a soft, thin blanket over their legs to protect them from the surprising chill of the July breeze. Raquel had inspected all the origami already, but was every now and then picking them up again, carefully by the tips of her fingers to marvel at them and to draw bashful smiles from the awkward priest sitting beside her. 

"God, no, don't do that," Sergio laughed. "I like that you believe in a meaningless existence." He looked to her side, eyes fixed on the origami in her hand. "And you're good for me. You make me question my faith." 

"And?" 

"Well," he sighed, "I've been thinking about that one thing that you've said. About the abused women. And you're right. Some people shouldn't just be able to confess and repent. I know it's my _job_ to let everyone confess before me and I need to forgive them all, and through God I do…" 

"But sometimes you just can't." 

Sergio's anguish was shown by his hand caressing his face. "Everyone deserves forgiveness according to God, but when I hear a man confess to beating his wife, or to taking advantage of an unconscious woman," he paused for a shaky breath, "how can I, with a clear conscience tell him he must pray and repent, when I know there's more to be done?" 

She chose her next questions carefully. "And do you? Do you do more?" 

"I sometimes think of doing something, of helping. But when I should…" he trailed off, swallowing thickly. The guilty look in her eyes spoke for itself.

Raquel grimaced. "If I'm going to be honest, I'm not sure I would know what to do either. It's kind of like being a cop, for years and years, despite knowing how terrible the police can be. You think you can be the change you want to see in the world but," she heaved a sigh, "there comes a moment where you realize you're not helping anyone by being the one good cop, and you must leave." 

"I just don't—," the sudden rustling of a bush made the priest shoot out of his of his seat, eyes wide. "What was that?" 

"I don't know." 

"Shine something. Try to scare it off!" He clapped his hands, moving frantically around the garden, "Boo! Bah!" He jumped to the side. "Oh, God, I bet it's a fox." 

Raquel doubled in laughter, tears streaming down her face. "What the fuck?" 

"No, it's not funny," he complained. "Foxes have been after me for years. It's like they have a pact or something. Wish I was kidding. I swear, I was near the toilet once, on a train brimmed with people – yes, that was the only place I could stand, and no, I would never pee on a public train. Anyway, I was standing there and when the train stopped there was a fuckin _fox_ staring at me, through the window. Threatening me!"

The woman couldn't even formulate a reply to that. 

"And, and then this one time, I was at a monastery, talking to my brother and Martín, just the three of us discussing heists and they ask me to bring them some stuff and as soon as I cross the corner there is a fox, _a fox!_ just staring at me, warning me that more of its kind are awaiting me. Like, arms crossed, threatening, reminding me I am not safe."

Raquel chuckled. "Lucky God got there first. You'd be a fox boy by now." 

"And we all know what happened to them," he joked, sitting back down. 

His shoulders were tense and there was still a terrified look on his face. Raquel squeezed his hand. "Are you okay?" 

He nodded, visibly gulping. "I'm okay. Do you think I'm mad?" 

"For the fox thing or the God thing?" 

"You're obsessed." 

Raquel laid down the origami and shook her head. "I just don't think I could do it. And I _know_ I couldn't, because I'm a woman, but I just… as you said, the guilt thing. It's already been eating me up too much for my former job." 

"I understand," he hummed. He picked up the origami she'd been holding and inspected it closely too. "But it's part of the deal. The guilt, the doubt, the never-ending fear that perhaps you've only chosen this path because it was the only available one for you at that moment." 

"God, yeah, and the—." 

Another rustle came, this time stronger. "Oh, it's a fox!" he whined, this time he simply tensing and bringing the origami close to his heart.

"Cut it out with the fox!" 

"I'm sorry," he amended, "I'm sorry. You were saying?" 

"I just," she covered her embarrassment with a laugh, "I don't think I could hold onto the vow of celibacy. It's too much. I couldn't give up sex forever." 

Sergio sighed. "Trust me, celibacy is a lot less complicated than romantic relationships." 

Raquel gazed at him firmly. "But what if you meet someone you like?" 

"I talk, I laugh, I give them origami and Bibles, I offer them tequila and I hope that, eventually, my personality will drive them away." 

Her breath hitched as she proposed the next option, "What if you meet someone you love?" 

They stared at each other in silence briefly, chuckling and both processing their words, then he laid down the origami and gazed directly into her eyes with a sad look in his eyes, "We're not going to have sex." When she laughed, a hurt look in her eyes, he added, "I know that's what you _think_ you want from me, many people have told me, but it's not. Nothing good would come out of it." 

Deep down, Raquel knew, but she couldn't help but say, "Something good might come." 

"Nothing," he insisted. After a pause, he whispered, "But I'd like to be your friend. If that's what you'd like as well. I appreciate your company." 

She bit her lower lip and nodded, "I'd like to be your friend, too. We could go out even, say, tomorrow. We shouldn't wait for my daughter's birthday." 

To no one in particular, she grinned cheekily, _We won't even last a week._

Sergio frowned, bringing her away from her thoughts. "What was that?" 

"What?" 

"Where'd you just go?" 

A thin line crinkled on her forehead. "What?" 

"It's like…" he waved his hand, "you went somewhere." Raquel averted his gaze to glance at someone who probably didn't exist, her eyes wide. _What the fuck?_ "There, right there," the priest said, "you just— it's like you disappeared. Where'd just go?" 

"Nowhere." 

She waited for him to look back down at the tray of origami before thinking to herself, _What the actual fuck?_

It was then that they both jumped in their seats, covering their mouths in shock and their eyes wide.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I had finished writing chapter three last week already but chapter four will take longer to write, I'm sorry.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one. If you did, please spare a moment to comment. It brightens my day :)
> 
> ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO HANNAH. THIS IS A LATE BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR YOU
> 
> Agni


	4. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Paula's birthday and, between growing tensions and a disappearance, Raquel snaps at the priest.

* * *

"Mami, can I please _ , please  _ get this?" 

The object in question was a small Diplodocus figurine, the long neck and tail of which had a soft wire inside to allow the girl to carry the toy by circling the tail around her little finger. Raquel could already picture that ending on the floor, dirty, stomped on by other people. But it was Paula's birthday, her  _ seventh _ already and, as emotional as it made her to see her little girl grow, she couldn't break down in front of her, so she ruffled her hair instead and nodded with a teary smile. 

"Of course, my dear," she said, running her fingers through the girl's braided hair –  _ it's braided in the shape of a crown. My mother taught me how to make it.  _ "It's your birthday – anything you want, you may have." 

She was already wearing a soft panda mask which she'd forced Raquel and Sergio to wear as well. 

_ He couldn't put his glasses over the mask,  _ she informed, grinning at the man's quirky smile,  _ but I don't think I've seen him smile brighter these days than today.  _

They'd already gone out three times after the night at his house, both doing everything to match their schedules – and, it turned out, the schedule of a priest was very tight, which meant they had to go through heaven and hell to buy his dress or to choose her shoes. 

_ We're working surprisingly well as friends. I almost don't want to rip his clothes off all the time.  _

She bit her lower lip, inspecting his grey suit and red tie. 

_ Almost.  _

As for the museum, they were yet to see it — Paula deemed it better going to the gift shop first, her thirst for material objects enhanced by it being her birthday. 

The girl now picked a book about dinosaurs and about the evolution of the human species along with a pencil with the back shaped as an elephant. Each time, she asked, "Mami, can I pick this, too? I think it would look great on my bookshelf."

_ I am weak to her wiles.  _ Raquel smiled, an adoring look on her face at the way her daughter brightly described what she thought the contents of the books would be.  _ She's so good at making me think I am doing myself a favor.  _

As they reached the counter to pay, Paula flopping all the books and toys on the top, Raquel reached for her purse. Instantly, Sergio lay a hand on her shoulder. "Let me pay," he whispered. "I invited you two here and it should be up to me to pay." 

"You invited us to the museum, not to buy dinosaur figurines from the gift shop," she countered, forcibly fishing a fifty euro bill out of her wallet. 

Before she could lay it on the counter, he lowered her hand and laid a bill of his own. "It's a Holy gift for her birthday." 

"Please," she scoffed, "this entire day out is your gift. And the  _ origami,"  _ which was in her purse because Paula was too excited not to break it. "Isn't this what you said when you gifted the tickets to me?" 

"I can give two gifts." 

"This is more than two,  _ Father."  _

Sergio shook his head firmly. "Believe it or not, you using my title doesn't have the expected result that you want it to have."

When he got distracted for a second with a figurine left on the counter, she thought,  _ He totally is turned on by me calling him Father.  _

As he turned back to her, she wagged an accusative finger at him. "I'm just saying," she muttered, "I wanted to give her this." 

He shrugged, not seeing the issue at all. "She's seven. Will she really know who paid?" 

"It's not about what she knows, it's about me being a good mother to her." 

Sergio furrowed his brows, caressing her arm gently. "You're a great mother," he whispered, his voice thick with genuine solemnity. "But you paying for a gift is not needed." 

Raquel glared at him.  _ He's insufferable _ . 

"Stop doing that! You always  _ go _ somewhere," he laughed, once again noticing when she was in her thoughts. She squared her jaw and averted his gaze, lips pursed.

_ Insufferable _ . 

Her scowl instantly turned into a gleeful smile when Paula, figurine in her hand and eyes sparkling with joy, came up to her. "Thank you, mami," she shouted excitedly, hugging her mother tightly. Raquel embraced her back. 

_ I'm not going to admit he was right.  _

With the corner of the eye she spotted the priest paying for the figurine he'd been distracted by and, as secretively as he could, hiding it in his pocket. 

She arched her eyebrows. 

_ What a nerd.  _

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


The museum had its beautiful expositions and activities. It wasn't as exciting as she remembered it to be from when she was a child, but the dinosaur skulls aligned one after the other with the descriptions and the subsequent room of skeletons that included a pair of  _ human _ skeletons were a sight for sore eyes, and not just for hers but also for Sergio's constantly blinking ones. 

_ He really can't see all too well with that panda mask.  _

"You look goofy with the mask," she poked fun at him as they paused to let Paula read the descriptions. 

"And you look ready to plan a heist." 

The corners of her eyes crinkled with her smile. "I thought it was  _ your _ job to plan a heist," she reminded him, then pulled a serious face. "Besides, mixing pandas with guns would probably scar everyone for life." 

"Ah," the priest hummed, "you're one of those that believes children things mixed with violence are worse than scary things, aren't you?" 

"Aren't  _ you _ ?" she feigned offence. 

"Difficult to say. Why do you think so?" 

She laughed, waving his question away. "It's actually Daniel's fault. Silene is planning something for tomorrow and apparently it involves fake guns and masks and Daniel proposed Mickey and Minnie Mouse masks."

" _ Why? _ " 

Raquel shrugged. "It's all about what touches who. But imagine a child saw Mickey Mouse pointing a gun at him. He'd always think Mickey Mouse was evil." 

"True," Sergio admitted, removing the mask to clean his glasses, which allowed her to admire his arms just a little.  _ His arms _ , she fawned, physically restraining herself from touching him. "But," he put the glasses back on and glanced at her, "wouldn't the fault just be in the gun itself?" 

"Would the child know the difference?" 

"I suppose that's true." A grin came upon his lips.  _ His lips.  _ Warm brown eyes stared into hers for a few long moments, unblinking. "And we can't allow kids to suffer, ever, can we?" 

"We at least shouldn't  _ try _ to make them unhappy," she pointed out, walking over to Paula as if to direct her words directly at the person in question. "Have you ever thought of having children, Father?" 

Sergio pursed his lips, taken aback.  _ I touched a nerve _ . He blinked several times, his jaw squared, before he averted his gaze, bashful, and turned to Paula, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Did you know that Lucy here is over three point two million years old?" 

Paula gaped, eyes scanning the skeleton then Sergio with such interest her eyes were soon to fall out of their orbits. "How much is that?" 

Sergio chuckled softly. "Very much. So much, that your age is but an infinitesimally small part of it." 

"Infini— what?" the girl squinted her eyes hard, trying to repeat the word. 

The priest raised an index. "Infinitesimally. It's a very large number. Larger than the entire population of the Earth."

Paula looked down at her hands, counting up the numbers, then gave up. "Is Lucy as old as the popu— of the world?" 

"No," he shook his head. His eyes narrowed as he thought of another, better example. "She's as old as half the population of Madrid. According to statistics, Madrid has about six and a half million people, which means that Lucy would be half as old as that. But she is one of the oldest fossils, and although this is but a replica, she's truly magnificent."

"Wow," the girl blinked several times. "What's a replica?"

"It's like…" he pinched his fingers together as he leaned towards the girl to allow her to look at his face, "when you try to recreate something almost the same way it used to be, but it's not entirely the  _ same _ ."

"Oh," the girl nodded sagely. "Like when mami tries to recreate abuela's paella."

_ Hey! _ she frowned.  _ My mother does make a mean paella, but I recreate it well enough, thank you very much.  _ "Now, let's not get hazy." 

Sergio waved her off, continuing in his description. "And you know, Lucy was an  _ Australopithecus afarensis _ ," the girl stared blankly, the word too hard to even process, "a humanoid species that however cannot be yet described as  _ human _ per se. And, fun fact!" he grinned from ear to ear. "This species is not only the ancestor to humans, but also to apes. It is the reason why we say God made us  _ and _ apes alike, and why apes might—." 

Raquel's hand on his arm – _ his arm  _ – interrupted him. "You've lost her, Father." Paula  _ was _ only staring at him wide-eyed now, pulling at her figurine as though to distract herself from the questions running through her mind. "Go, Paulita, look at the other expositions." 

Sergio appeared bashful as the girl ran away. "Was I too much?" 

"Just a tad," she admitted, running a hand on his back to comfort him. "But to be fair, I think it was the names and numbers. She  _ adores _ history and the evolution of species but she prefers keeping it simple for now." 

"Ah, I adored all of this when I was little. The evolution of species is a very interesting subject and gives way to so many possibilities, so many worlds yet uncovered." 

Raquel observed him with narrow eyes, hands on her hips. "Shouldn't you, as a priest, resent science and  _ refuse _ the evolution of species?" 

"Well—." 

Her voice turned deeper as she continued, "The world was created in seven days, no evolution is possible, because  _ that _ would mean you disagree with the Bible. Not to mention," she wagged her finger, "Adam and Eve are the first ever humans, which disproves evolution entirely. How could man even come from the same father as an ape?" 

Sergio laughed. "That's accurate." 

"Are you saying  _ I _ look like an ape? Maybe you come from an ape, but my ancestors were human," she finished, a joyful light in her eyes. "How did I do with this imitation, Father?" 

He stared at her briefly, eyes soft, then shook his head with a deep sigh. "Great imitation. I'll give it a nine." 

"A  _ nine _ ?" she slapped his arm. "My performance was deserving of a twelve at least."

"Fine. A twelve. But on the scale of what? Twenty?" 

Her eyes glared daggers into his, teasing. "If you're so great at laughing at my performance, explain to me how you excuse evolution while being a priest." 

"Just as I explained to you the creation of the world. It makes much more sense for God to have created a beautiful, complex world in which humans evolved from bundles of cells into what they are now than a simple one in which they came to be out of nothing."

"But," she argued, "that goes  _ against _ your religion." 

"No, it doesn't! The world was created in seven days, yes?" she nodded when he pointed at her to react. "Who's to say those seven days are  _ actually _ seven  _ days _ . They could be periods of time! Not to mention that the Bible was written by men who knew nothing of the evolution." 

Raquel tilted her head grabbing onto the next bait with extreme ease. "The Bible is then only fictional, written by men." 

Sergio straightened his shoulders with a sharp intake of breath. "I know you try everything to disprove my Faith, but that it is written by men, means simply that it is vast and beautiful but it's not textual. Just verses, just words, interpretations of what God told us. And some verses are followed to the letter, others are but poetry imprinted in my heart." 

A bemused smiled quivered upon her lips. "Isn't that convenient for you?" 

"I wouldn't call it convenient."

"What other verses do you decide are poetic?" Along with the question came a sudden boldness. As he opened his mouth, she laid her finger on his lips and shushed him. "No, Father, don't reply," she chuckled. "But I think it's unfair some verses are textual and others aren't." 

With his eyes, he sent her a silent plea not to speak her mind further, and his lips refused to move under her firm finger. Instead, he stood there, staring directly into her eyes, arms hanging at his sides and a lip bitten. 

She looked down. The way his gaze bore into her unsettled her. She found herself wishing she weren't in a museum. 

Paula's voice cut through the tension. 

"Mami, I'm hungry! And after that," she tilted her head with a wide grin, "paintball!"

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Paintball it was. 

After a companionable lunch outside of the museum, during which Paula chatted about the expositions with gusto while playing with Sergio's origami, describing each word per word and begging her mother to take her back soon for summer programs, Paula announced it was time. Time to see the place, time to meet her friends and, most of all, time to  _ win. _

"She has a competitive streak," chuckled Sergio, whom the girl had dragged into the paintball mess by pouting and begging him to forget the church for a day –  _ I don't feel the least bit sorry for making him miss some Church errands  _ – which had resulted in the priest wearing a life vest and a helmet half an hour before the beginning of the adult's game. 

Thus had been decided. The children would have two hours to play, free to roam and shoot each other with abandon, whereas the adults would have about three quarters of an hour and would start much later than the kids, so that they'd be in and out before the children's game's end. 

The leisure with which it all started meant that most adults hadn't arrived, whereas the children were lining up to enter. 

"Takes it from her mother," said Raquel, her eyes skimming over his clothes with glee. "Are you sure you can handle paintball?" 

The man seemed to take offence in her lack of faith, exposed by the way he grabbed his paint gun. "I don't condone  _ violence _ but I have experience with guns."  _ No, he doesn't.  _ "Real ones."  _ He's never held a gun in his life.  _ " _ Stop _ doing that! And yes, I've held a gun." 

"In what context?" 

He pursed his lips. "I once won a teddy bear at a fair for a girl." 

Raquel couldn't help the amusement that bubbled out of her throat with a laugh. She batted her lashes. "Should I be jealous that you've not done that for me?" 

A tinge of crimson colored of his cheeks. He averted her gaze and sighed, still tense in his shoulders. The sight ignited a desire to massage his shoulders deep within her, which she smothered down while she, too, begin lacing her vest.

"How did you manage to rent out a place at this time of the day for so many people?" 

Albeit innocent, the question tickled her in the wrong places. "I'm a therapist. It may have drained me a little but I am paid well enough."

"I didn't mean to imply you weren't," he immediately explained hastily, raising his hands in lieu of apology. "But you'd still have to pull some strings," he noticed. "Also  _ why _ ?" 

"Why?"  _ He's kind of annoying.  _ "Paula begged me for it because all her classmates have parents who pulled enough strings to celebrate their birthdays here," she shrugged, struggling with the last string, "and there were chances that if  _ I _ didn't do it…" 

"What?" 

She chuckled bitterly. "That if I didn't do it… it doesn't matter." 

His voice came from much closer than she'd anticipated, his hand pulling at the string to allow her to tie it up tightly. "Perfect," he breathed staring at her vest, then went back to the previous conversation. "If you didn't, what?" 

"I said it doesn't  _ matter _ , stop insisting," she said, distancing herself not just physically from him. If she sensed the disappointment in his pulled eyebrows and in the way he blinked away some type of sorrow, she ignored it. "And anyway, Silene pulled the strings." 

He paused on his way to pick up her gun, eyebrows quirked. "Silene?" 

Raquel waved him off. "It's her job. She plans parties. She's a party planner. Planned this one, planned the bachelor  _ and _ bachelorette party – which are together,"  _ for funsies, as she calls it _ . "And she's planning the wedding, all last minute. It's amazing how well she can organize everything for how impulsive she tends to be." 

"You'd think she'd screw it up at the first disagreement," he agreed, "but instead, she surprises you. Is it a well paid job?" 

"Surprisingly so." 

Sergio shook his head, closing his eyes to laugh in earnest. "I knew I chose the wrong profession."  _ Oh, yes, you did, Father.  _ "Is it too late for me now?" 

Raquel pretended to think about it, pursing her lips playfully. "Hm, I think you're only ten years too late, but if you squint hard,"  _ and renounce celibacy,  _ "and squeeze in the right places, you're guaranteed the same success, or almost, as Silene." 

"I heard my name." Speak of the devil. "Who has two thumbs and made Julia convince Alicia to help you with the lawsuit? She'll start working on it next week." 

Raquel arched her eyebrows at the ginger standing behind Silene. 

"She's joining us now." 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


"I can't believe she made us pair up," said Sergio, out of breath, his back against the wall, a paintball gun within his two hands held tightly as though it might escape from his grasp. His normal glasses had to replaced with goggles, which meant he was practically blind if not for the uncomfortable contacts he'd luckily brought and for the squinting. He turned to her hastily when he noticed what he'd said and smiled, apologetic. "Not that being paired up with you sucks. On the contrary. You managed to kill Daniel in a matter of seconds, but—."

Her hand on his mouth was cue for him to shut up.  _ Shush.  _ With her eyes, she pointed at the edge of the corner where a black mattress shaped as a boulder stood, where the dim, flickering light didn't arrive. 

She leaned over to whisper, hand still on his lips. "I heard a rustle, Father." He nodded under her grasp, eyes simultaneously going wide with excitement and narrowing to see anything at all. 

They stepped to the side together, in sync, sliding down to the floor to hide behind a mass of green and red fake boulders, guns at the ready. 

So many enemies could be awaiting them. 

Although Daniel was already dead and Mónica could be, too, Silene had invited Ágata and some of Ágata's friends to the game as, of course, Alicia and Julia. 

_ Alicia is paired with Julia, _ she informed, squeezing her gun excitedly,  _ and I personally can't wait to shoot her, just in case.  _

She'd seen Ágata die, too, actually, by the hands of Silene and Ánibal, but at least Ágata's friend Mirko —  _ gay and apparently in love with Father Martín which is  _ very _ unfortunate, if you ask me  _ — had immediately shot Ánibal down. 

Silene was too fast for him and subsequently killed  _ him _ . 

All in the matter of a few minutes. Best beginning of the game ever. 

A few beats passed, then another rustle, much closer. Excitement surged through Raquel's veins, palpable by anyone that might stand too close. She gripped her gun tightly, watching forward, counting the seconds before the two enemies closed down on them. 

An intoxicating, flowery scent of filled her nostrils so strongly her eyes turned around in her orbits succumbing to the darkness within.  _ Alicia _ couldn't have made herself more recognizable. 

She waited still, a hand stretching to the spot near Sergio, expectant, but he didn't catch the bait. With sinking disappointment she helped herself with her eyes to communicate her intention to bide their time until the enemy was close _.  _

Sergio held his breath in agreement. 

Their chance luckily came not a second after as a bullet minimally grazed Sergio's boots and slashed colorfully on the mattress before them, droplets of paint coloring him as well. 

_ It's now or never. _

With a nod that urged the priest not to doubt her, they both stood and shot without looking, a glimpse of dark brown hair only catching her eye as Julia fell to the floor with a loud grunt. 

_ Fuck.  _

_ Not Alicia.  _

"Son of a bitch!" shouted Julia painfully, glaring at Raquel with gelid eyes. "Alicia,  _ fuck _ ," the woman in question stood straighter, handling her much bigger rifle with care, "take them down." 

Sergio hadn't managed to shoot Alicia, as it appeared, and he was now doubling over behind the boulder to hide his disappointment. Raquel followed suit, only ducking up to check if Alicia was at the ready. 

Bullets began flying immediately, splashing on the floor behind them. 

_ God, she's hot with a rifle. _

Shaking the thoughts away, she motioned with her head for the priest to lay completely down, then urged him to crawl behind the next pair of boulders while bullets grazed their hips. Never enough to remove them from the game. 

As a bullet lightly grazed Sergio's cheek and exploded on the floor, she pulled him towards another side of the room. "At my orders,  _ run _ . _ "  _

"What if she shoots me while I'm out in the open?" he lamented, hugging his knees close to his chest. With his hair tousled and glasses gone, he looked unbearably even less controlled, under her mercy. 

She squeezed his hand and, on an impulse, leaned to lay a kiss on his cheek right where the bullet had grazed him, above his beard. "I'll cover you. And avenge you if I must." 

"I never understood the point of  _ covering _ someone. You can still get shot and there's no reassurance that they  _ wi _ —." 

She slapped him out of his unnerving babbling. "It means I'll shoot her, hopefully, and she'll be distracted. Also I hope slapping a priest won't guarantee me eternal doom. Now fucking  _ run _ ."

With one last, pained, longing look, the priest stood up and began running, skipping from side to side to avoid the bullets, while Raquel grabbed her gun and shot blindly at Alicia. 

Shots echoed in the darkness, paint splashed in all the colors of the rainbow, the mattresses its canvas and then – nothing. A deafening silence. No sooner had she sang victory than she heard a grunt behind herself and, with the corner of her eye, she spotted Sergio. Lying flat on his belly, arms spread, red paint spread across his back. 

If she didn't know better, she'd call it blood. 

She stared at him as he turned around, inspecting the paint on his hand with a pained look, hurt flickering in his gaze as it locked with hers, as though she had betrayed him. 

A second later, his eyes widened, his chin pointing at a spot behind her. 

Without much thought, she stood up and, with a litany of  _ fuck _ in her mind and with Alicia's grinning face coming into her view, she aimed at her chest. It hit the mark as the lawyer's sly grin slipped and was replaced with a scorn while she fell. 

A thud echoed with the flop of her body.

"Checkmate, asshole," she hissed, standing over the lying woman with a threatening gun pointed directly at the woman's temple.  _ If she tries anything, I'm ready to shoot. And up close, it really hurts.  _

"My tit turned upside down," complained the lawyer with a hand clutched at her chest. Her blue eyes bore into Raquel's. "You owe me one now, Raquel. A date tonight?" 

Raquel rolled her eyes and leaned over to her to snatch at her rifle. "How much ammo left?" 

Alicia shrugged, smirking. "Why don't you shoot that poor man behind me and find out?" 

_ Sergio— Father, I mean.  _ Raquel's eyes widened in an almost absurdly comical manner as she took in the scene of Sergio's contorted face. 

"Don't try anything funny," she warned the redhead with a raised hand as she walked over to the hurt priest. 

"I wouldn't dream of it," winked Alicia, a glimmer of  _ something _ flickering in her eyes. It disappeared as she batted her lashes, but lingered in Raquel's curious thoughts. 

She crouched next to Sergio with an apprehensive smile. "There, there,  _ Father _ ," she drew soothing circles on his forearm as her other hand helped him out of the vest. He grunted loudly, sending shivers down her spine. "It's just paint," she whispered. 

"It feels like a rock hit my back," he countered, panting. "And I am  _ used _ to pain. It's my honor that's hurt."

Raquel chuckled heartily. "God didn't protect you well enough." 

"Oh," he rolled his eyes disapprovingly, though there was no real disappointment in his gaze, "I'm pretty sure I left the protecting bit to  _ you _ ." 

"I'm sorry, I can't compete with God."

_ I wish I could,  _ she thought bitterly when he averted his gaze in an awkward haze, and, though her hand itched to stroke his cheeks, she traced his features with only her mind as witness. 

"Maybe you'll need someone to massage your back after all," she teased with a wide grin. "Or at least to help you with the oil-spreading part, eh?" 

All too late she realized the shadow looming upon his face was not just his deep awkwardness and before she could so much as spare a glance back, a female voice chirped, "I  _ win _ ."

She turned just in time to stare right into the face of her aggressor, her entire body too slow to react. 

_ Silene.  _

The five bullets that came after flew her across the mattress to lie on her back, arms sprawled on her sides and mouth agape, blue, green and yellow splashes directly on her chest. 

_ Son of a bitch. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Sergio refused to let anyone else coddle her as they sat, removing her vest as gently as possible, hands barely grazing her skin and simultaneously lighting it on fire with each ghost of a touch. Though the rest of the group was near them while they waited for the kids' session to finish in just a few minutes, he treated her as though only she existed. His lips moved in a silent prayer, which she allowed. She allowed him to do anything, really, even press ice in her hand to then urge her to cover her chest. 

His gaze, however, pointedly avoided  _ that _ area, so Raquel decided to take matters into her hands, a soft grin upon her lips. 

"This will surely leave a fucking bruise on my tits," she teased, pulling at her lower lip seductively when his shocked gaze met hers. 

Crimson painted across his cheeks enhancing his freckles.  _ How have I not noticed these freckles before?  _ "Wow," he chuckled, embarrassed. A hand covered his face, removing his glasses with a sigh. "I was just thinking of— and now…" 

"Now what?" she batted her lashes, lowering her shirt just a little.  _ "Father?"  _

"I was just praying, peacefully, for your recovery and now," he shook his head to avert his gaze from the exposed skin, his eyes dark, "now I'm thinking about your tits." 

She choked out a shocked laugh. "My tits disturbed your peace?" 

The priest nodded, laughing. "Yes! Now I'm thinking about how they might be bruised, and how—," he bit his tongue in time, breath hitching. Before she could tease him further, he glanced at her, serious. "Do you prefer weddings or funerals?" 

_ What a coward.  _ "What? Don't change the subject. I thought we were talking about my tits!" 

Sergio suppressed a grin, shaking his head. "Come on, humor me? What do you prefer?" 

The way he avoided questions was so similar to what she did as well that she had to let it slide, but it irked her to no end. "Weddings, I guess? They're happy and celebrate love and I  _ am _ attending one in two days. Although marriages are… something else entirely. What about you?" 

"Funerals. There's something solemn about them."

A pause. Raquel grinned slowly, uncertainly, with eyes narrowed and her eyebrows together, then erupted into laughter, pushing the priest away. "Are you planning my funeral or something? Because I swear a few bruises won't kill me." 

"No! No, no!" 

She kept laughing. "Your own, then? I know the paint was red but it wasn't blood." 

Sergio chuckled. "No, not that either."

"No funeral then? You just hate weddings?" 

"I do hate weddings," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. 

She poked his chest with a giggle. "But you're  _ officiating _ one in two days!" 

"I know! And I have no fucking idea what to say at it," he sighed. 

"Speak from the heart. Talk about the love you feel for me," she winked. "Why do you hate weddings?" 

Sergio shook his head with a chuckle. "After coming to five of your brother's weddings, as a guest, weddings become repetitive."

"Ah," she hummed, pulling a serious face while propping herself towards him. "And you think funerals will spice things up? Because that's one hell of a reasoning." 

"It's not  _ that _ ," he scoffed. "Although, it's not  _ not _ that, either. I guess it's just… I've seen my brother chuck women away and pick new ones for years, and now it's over. And although it hurts, I feel like his funeral will be more solemn and more peaceful than his lifetime of painful adventures and health issues."

Raquel gaped at him with eyes wide. "It's your  _ brother's  _ funeral?" In a lower voice that wouldn't attract Mónica's sensible ears, she added, "Andrés de Fonollosa is  _ dead?" _

"No! Not yet!" he pushed his glassed up his nose, squirming nervously. "But he's dying, yes. And it's horrible, I know, but… I'm feeling more at peace now, than at any of his weddings." His warm, brown eyes fixed with hers, a glimpse of tears flickering in the dim lights of the waiting room. "I find peace in knowing he'll live now an eternity without pain and without causing others pain as well." 

Raquel's eyebrow twitched to arch up at the hidden idea that the man might join the angels in Heaven, but she held it down, offering a comforting smile instead. "That's… something. I may not… believe in anything  _ after _ , but it's sweet that you do."

"What do you believe in, then?" he furrowed his sparse brows. "Food for worms?" 

She shrugged. "More or less, yes." 

"But don't you want to believe in something beautiful? In joy, in miracles!"

She waved her hand. "No! Don't try making me an optimist  _ now _ , Father. I'm too old for this! You'll ruin my life!" 

He laughed. "Please, you're not too old. And why would you believe in something so ugly when you can believe in something  _ wonderful!  _ In a meaning! Don't you want to believe that your loved ones will have endless joy afterwards?" 

She shook her head, jaw squared. "What about endless pain? You can't know for certain they'll go to Heaven." 

"That's why  _ hope _ exists." 

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "It's not hope, it's delusion. It's delusion in a better life after death based on following a moral code dictated by some imaginary God, a place where only those who always believe  _ or _ decided at last to believe will go to. What about those who die unexpectedly?"

Like Ángel had, in a car accident. Sometimes she still remembered his last calls to her, where he had insulted her of all possible things simply for having accused him, among others, of corruption. A  _ traitor _ , a  _ whore.  _

_ Is he in Heaven or Hell? What determines that? _

The memory of her late friend was bucket of cold water for her. She didn't feel like laughing anymore, or talking about any of this, for that matter. 

"You plan their funeral, you go to their wake and you pray that they won't go to Hell," said the priest softly, cutting through her memories. 

"You  _ pray.  _ Always pray." She stood up to pace, lest she could see the hurt in his eyes. Ágata and Mónica glanced up at her but she ignored them. "A funeral, of course. And how many funerals have you planned where your desire overwhelmed your certainty?" 

Sergio gulped, a look of guilt spreading across his features. "A few. And you?" 

"It doesn't matter."

Ángel's funeral replayed in her mind's eye all too often. The closed casket, because the accident had completely destroyed his face. Mari Carmen, accusing her of having caused it somehow, as if Raquel had been at fault for wanting a better life for herself, busy moving out. The family of the other deceased, shouting accusations at both her and Mari Carmen, because Ángel's car crash hadn't just caused his own demise but also that of three kids driving in the back of the car he drove against, flew over and crashed upon, killing them instantly. The guilt that had choked her, and the way she could  _ not _ , for the life of herself, explain to Paula why her godfather was dead, and why he was considered a murderer, too. 

She blinked away the tears, a lump growing in her throat. When a hand waved before her eyes, she found herself drawn back to the present, to Sergio staring at her with concern writ in his small eyes. She couldn't explain why, but his concern didn't fill her with joy for once. 

"Where did you just go?"  _ God, he's annoying,  _ she scoffed. He cocked his head to the side. "You did it again. Where do you keep going?" 

_ "Stop _ being such a priest!" 

He raised his hands. "But I am one!" she rolled her eyes at no one in particular. "I'm just trying to get to know you, like a friend would!" 

A friend, of course. 

"Well, I don't want that! I'm not—."

"Please! Let me know you!" 

She smiled tearfully. It was almost embarrassing how much Ángel's death still affected her, but she couldn't deny its impact both on her social and romantic life. "Don't you have other things to do?" she whined. "Go  _ pray _ or do whatever Church stuff you do, didn't you have some?" 

"Martín is—." 

The sound of his voice was muffled out by the excited cheers of kids exiting their paintball area. Raquel immediately stepped away, her eyes scanning for Paula, while her hand warned the priest not to say anything else. Led by a man in his thirties, Gandía as his tag appeared to claim, the kids all sprang towards their parents. 

Raquel frowned as Cincinnati's small excited voice exclaimed "Mami!" his hands dropping his small gun to catch at his mother's middle instead. 

No Paula. 

"Paulita?" she called, but no answer came. "Cinci," the boy glanced at her with eyes wide, Mónica following his gaze to frown at Raquel as well, worried, "where's Paula?" 

The boy shrugged. "She left," he explained simply, tugging at his mother's curls with a laugh. 

Raquel's eyes widened. As though in a trance, her legs led her towards the entrance to the kids' area. A hand on her shoulder attempted to stop her, the tall, bald man furrowing his brows at her but she wriggled herself out sharply. 

"Where's my daughter?" she hissed, walking past him. "Where's Paula?" 

"Which—?" 

Ágata came to her rescue. "Short girl, brown hair, large eyes. The  _ birthday _ girl, for fuck's sake. Wore her hair braided into the shape of a  _ fucking _ crown." 

Gandía spread his arms, confused, although a glint of worry already flickered in his eyes.  _ He probably used to work as higher security once. A trained dog.  _ "She should be inside." 

_ "Should _ be?!" exclaimed Ágata, while Silene stormed past Raquel to run into the kids' dark area. 

The woman followed suit, the two of them joined by the rest of the gang to call for Paula, with no results. A ringing began echoing in Raquel's ears, eyes watering and her lower lip trembling. She couldn't hear anything, nor see – only cry out for Paula, but to what end?

_He took her._ _I'm sure of it. He took her._

When a soft hand grabbed at her, she barely registered it, only pulled herself away from it, continuing her quest. A warm, familiar voice called out to her, but it was only after the priest shook her shoulders several times that she finally strained her gaze on his familiar, worried face. 

_ Paula is gone with Alberto,  _ she thought,  _ Paula is gone with Alberto. _

He snapped his fingers before her eyes. "Hey! Come back!" 

She gasped out of her daze, turning her face towards Silene's own while she wriggled herself out of his grasp. With the ghost of the previous conversation still fresh in her mind she couldn't bear for him to be the first face she saw as she said it out loud, "Alberto must've taken Paula while we were—," she couldn't bear to finish it. 

Silene squared her jaw. "Oh, I'll punch him. I'll punch  _ all _ his teeth out." 

"I know a technique—," began the priest but Raquel glared at him. 

_ "Don't," _ she told him firmly, fixing her gaze with his. Not breaking it, she spoke, "Silene, make that Gandía guy check if it was truly him who took her through the security cameras." Silene left in a hurry, instantly. To the rest, she muttered, "I think I know what I need to do." 

_ I need to apologize.  _

"Whatever it is, I can help!" Sergio proposed with a hopeful smile, while the women and Daniel confirmed with firm nods. 

She couldn't bear it right now. The apology and the lawsuit belonged to her. All she needed was confirmation, not their help, so she whispered, "No, I don't need any help." 

Sergio either pretended or truly didn't hear. "I have some good contacts that could—." 

"I said  _ no _ ," she said, this time more firmly and loudly, staring directly at Sergio. This was her own battle — tears threatened to fall, so she swallowed them back and shook her head firmly. "Go back to Church. I'll look for her  _ alone. _ Don't you have Church things to do anyway?" 

The repeated suggestions had the expected effect. He sighed weakly. "But I can—." 

"Go to your Church and pray," she begged him weakly. 

"I just wanted to help you," he said, his voice soft. 

"I don't want your help right now." 

The pain that slashed across his face as though she had physically slapped him again almost made her take back her words, but she couldn't deal with him right now.

Mónica's warm arms were a brief solace, before Silene came back with the sad confirmation. 

Raquel squared her shoulders and grabbed at her handbag, texting Alberto to meet her at the park to get exactly what he wanted. 

And she left. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


"Piece of  _ fucking _ shit!" 

Honking the car served nothing. She was stuck in traffic and had been for over an hour, Alberto hadn't yet replied to her and Laura wasn't answering her calls either. To top it all off, her car was signaling the end of gas, which meant she would need to recharge lest she wanted to stop in the middle of the road. 

She breathed in shakily. 

_ This isn't the first time since the divorce _ , she informed. Memories of a year prior flooded her mind. She'd left him six months earlier and he'd started dating Laura soon after. And there he had been, on Paula's birthday, taking her away.

The restraining order had followed. And the tears, the arguments. 

Her relationship with Laura had never recovered. 

"Please, answer," she gritted at her phone, Laura's name displayed right on top. It rang for a few minutes before a white button with an X appeared, inviting her to either leave a message or call again, or end the call. 

She wrote to Alberto again, cursing the traffic for stretching out the time Paula spent with that disgusting piece of shit. Paula, who still thought the world of her father. Oh, how she longed to protect the girl from all the sorrows while simultaneously wishing to shake some information into her. 

She'd tried doing that, just a year back. More memories of that cursed night flooded back in. She squeezed her eyes as the image of her sister's angry face resurfaced, storming away from her as she saw the restraining order. 

_ "How can I ever trust you?"  _ asked Laura in the memory, a cold look upon her features while her thin fingers wrapped around Alberto's to underline her loyalty,  _ "After what you did to Ángel? After you cheated on Alberto?"  _

Raquel didn't want to remember. She'd almost forgotten how much worse it got around Paula's birthday, and how worse the voices and the guilt grew when she was alone. 

Raquel could barely stand this, tears threatening to fall, matching a lump in her throat that clogged her respiratory abilities. She felt like throwing up. 

_ The best therapists are those with enough issues to scare another therapist _ , she thought bitterly, not even capable of drying her tears away. Instead, she dialed Laura's number again. 

"Laura," she said firmly, her voice shaking with unfallen tears, "please bring Paula back. Or tell me she's alright at least. And don't tell him I called you as well." 

A pause. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, painfully thumping against everything. 

"If you're with her, tell I love her. Even if she isn't scared, tell her," she swallowed thickly, lowering her head against her wheel. The honking of the car drowned out her last, "I love you, as well," to her sister. 

The door of her car opening hurriedly prompted her to jump in her seat. "No need to be so dramatic," said an unexpected voice, a grin stretched upon Laura's lips. 

Raquel widened her eyes, first gaping at Laura, then, upon hearing Paula's laughter, at her daughter. 

"Wh—?" 

Laura clicked her tongue. "I kidnapped her from Alberto while he wasn't looking and since our mother was the one that accidentally told him where you all were in the friend's place—." 

"Our mother?" 

"She claims she  _ forgot." Right, cause she's got Alzheimer's. I don't think Laura even knows.  _ "Anyway, I instantly took a bus to the paintball place mother spoke of, then got a quick ride from Silene to find you and here I am." 

"But—."

"I broke up with him in a text, too. I'll be staying at your place, now, yeah?" Raquel couldn't help but simply stare, unbridled shock paralysing her. "Don't gape like this. You look like a fish." 

The joke snapped her out of the daze, a surprised laughter bubbling out of her throat. "Right," she chuckled, turning to Paula to kiss her hand thankfully. " _ Mija _ , are you okay?" 

Paula nodded. "Papi was kind of rude to aunt Laura." 

"Why?" she furrowed her brows, glancing at Laura, the latter simply shrugging.

"I told him stealing Paula away from her party while you weren't looking was a dick move," she explained, then arched a warning brow at Paula. "Auntie can use this word, but you can't." 

Raquel scoffed, slapping her arm. "Don't say this. Paula," she smiled warmly at her daughter, "you can curse on your birthday."

"Dick!" Paula beamed, throwing her fists up in excitement. "Shit, motherfucker, are you fucking dumb?" 

Raquel could only blink several times in response, having already promised and although her heart had a somersault at each curse, what was she supposed to do? She stretched back on her seat to kiss the girl on the cheek, whispering sweet nothings, then turned a deaf ear to the girl's excited curses and shot Laura a questioning look. 

The younger sister shrugged, then smiled as though she had remembered something. "Thank you." 

"For what?" 

Laura sighed. "For taking my miscarriage,"  _ Oh. I'd forgotten that.  _ She didn't like thinking about it. "It was what he said to you after your miscarriage that made me realize… And although I wish I could spit it into his face now that it was  _ mine, _ I'm glad it's yours now. And I thank you for punching him." 

"Laura," she murmured, a lump clogging her throat. "I'm so fucking glad I punched him."

Laura chuckled. "Do you want to fucking beat the living shit out of him now?" 

"Yes," she admitted, gripping tightly at the steering wheel. "But, realistically, I just want to spend the last hours of my daughter's birthday celebrating it, not in a fucking jail." 

"I know a place with delicious cake." 

Raquel frowned. "Why are you assuming I didn't bake a cake?" Laura raised a provocative eyebrow. "Right, lead the way." 

"I'll invite mom and the rest to your house." 

With a heart still heavy with worry that couldn't just go away and with eyes that begged to release the last of tears, Raquel nodded. "Just don't invite  _ him." _

Laura chuckled softly. "It took me over a week to organize myself to leave him. Do I look like I want to see his face again?" 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Despite a weight having lifted when Paula appeared in her car, and the unlikely and rather anticlimactic peace with her sister, Raquel was still pulled down by her fears and her regrets. There were so many things she could have done better: baked a cake herself, or not told anything to her mother, or not let Father Sergio down while she could have,  _ should _ have given Alberto a piece of his own poison. 

But she didn't. 

For the first time in possibly forever, she found solace in kneeling on a hard surface, hands clasped together, head facing downwards, directed at her own knees, in Sergio's church – and she prayed. 

There was something uplifting about begging a God that couldn't even hear her for help, for guidance. That was all she needed. 

Guidance. 

She closed her eyes, relishing in the silence enveloping her in the darkness like a blan— the sudden orchestral music booming from the backroom gave her a start; she jumped in her seat, eyebrows arched. 

With her heart hammering in her chest, she slowly made her across the empty middle corridor, music getting louder which each step.

_ Who plays _ —  _ whatever the fuck that is? _

Deep down, she knew exactly who. 

A large cross glared at her in the dark, flecks of golden glimmering across its surface, illuminated by the moon whose light shimmered through the top windows. 

Raquel stared at it only briefly, lump in her throat, before she shook her head and parted the curtain that separated the backroom from the rest of the church, revealing an old stereo right across from her and Father Sergio – hammered and with his back turned to her as he slammed the cabinet. Raquel furrowed her brows, realizing he was trying to grab a bottle of whatever alcoholic beverage from the top. 

She shook her head with a suppressed chuckle at no one in particular and, instead of calling for his attention properly, she turn off the stereo instead. 

As expected, Sergio turned with a shocked gasp. "Fuck!" his small, dazed eyes squinted at her. "Oh, fuck! Jesus!" 

"Jesus." Raquel spread her arms in confusion, a deep frown deepening on her forehead. Though only briefly, she noticed his black tunic was open, revealing his chest. She chuckled to pry away the thoughts as she focused on his face instead. "Why are you awake? It's 10.25!"

Sergio raised his hands at her as though he were trying to protect himself from her. "I thought you were just in my head, there!" He laughed, bitter. "You  _ were _ in my head, then. But now you're here!" 

"Is everything alright, Father?" 

"Fuck you calling me  _ Father,"  _ he scoffed, hands on his hips now, "as if it doesn't turn you on just to say it." She gaped, taken aback, unable to reply. Taking her silence as complicity, he waved his hand. "Why—why–why are you– here? Did you just come here looking for me?" 

Raquel bit her lower lip, suppressing a chuckle. She averted his gaze briefly. "I did want to apologize for earlier—." 

"No need, I should have respected your boundaries." 

"But I was actually here to pray, before your orchestral music—." 

"Syrtaki." 

"What?" 

"That's the music you're referring to," he elaborated, then furrowed his brows, tilting his head to the side. "Hold on, you were here to pray? No, that's my thing!" 

She laughed. "Are you going to forbid me from praying?" 

Sergio sobered up slightly, shaking his head firmly. "I'd never forbid you anything. But wait," he pushed his glasses up his nose with a confused air about him, "why were you praying? Shit! Did you not find Paula?" 

"No! I mean," she hurried to explain when his eyes widened in fear, "I did! I found her! Laura brought her back to me and I… she's at home now. Sound asleep and with Laura  _ and _ Ágata watching over her." 

"Don't let a romance between  _ those _ two start, now, right?" 

She squared her shoulders jokingly. "Or what? You'd have to deal with me as your in-law of sorts forever?" 

"Yeah," he grinned, averting her gaze when it prolonged into something deeper. He cleared his throat, and turned to jump again. "Want some scotch? It's my brother's." 

"Sure," she agreed, surprising herself with how easily she accepted something belonging to  _ Andrés de Fonollosa _ of all people. 

"Spare some prayers to help me grab it?" he asked. Before she could process what he meant, the bottle fell and he turned to Raquel with a grin. "Thank you!" 

She frowned. "Sure, Father." 

"So," he poured her a glass, "if Paula is alright and you clearly didn't need my help or prayers to find her, why are you here to pray?" 

Raquel shrugged. "To thank God for the immense luck I've had in reconciling with my sister?" 

The priest arched a disapproving eyebrow, gulping down the entire shot of scotch. His hand urged her to do so as well. "Try again," he said, his voice so low it was nearly a growl. 

She shuddered, a tingle spreading between her legs. With a bite of her lower lip, she ignored it. 

"I was overwhelmed and needed God," she whispered, afraid to raise her voice lest it revealed her desires, and her words were more truthful this time. 

"But you don't believe in God." 

"Well," Raquel sighed, recognizing the truth. She shrugged and, averting his gaze, she spotted the dress they'd chosen just a few days prior. A grin spread upon her lips. "It's looking  _ great _ hanging like that here! They already delivered it?" 

Sergio glanced at the dress and scoffed. "Don't change the subject!" Then he added with a grin of his own, "And yes! They delivered it today. Martín collected it for me. Look at it! Come here, touch it!" 

"What?" 

"Come on!" he urged with a waving hand.

Rolling her eyes albeit affectionately, she stepped towards him and his tunic in a trance. "Alright, alright," she relented with a laugh, letting an excited hand grab hers to touch the soft dress. "Wow," she breathed, forcing herself not to look up, lest she could feel the lessening distance between them. 

He nodded. "These dresses are a marvel," he groaned. "And this color! I mean, it's  _ amazing _ gold. Not all priests can wear it and look good. Fuck, not even Martín can." Sparing her an amused look, he distanced himself a little from her. "Sometimes I worry," he pushed his glasses up his nose, "I only became a priest for this."

"For the outfits?" 

"Yeah," he admitted, swallowing thickly. "And for my obvious inability to fall in love before the age of 40." 

His warm gaze bore into hers along with the words and she shifted uncomfortably. "It's good to admit our weaknesses." 

"I have some others," he admitted with a wink, "but I won't tell you." 

She nodded, feigning a sage look. "I might use them against you, wise. But," she poked her finger in the air, "what if I do this?" she batted her lashes. "Will you tell me then?" 

"No," Sergio breathed in harshly. "Try something better." 

She bit her lower lip. "Now?" 

A fleeting lustful look flickered in his dark eyes before he shifted on his feet and grinned. "I'm nostalgic," he huffed. "Are you nostalgic?" 

"Well," she thought back to her earlier breakdown about Ángel, "you could say so." 

"I'm so nostalgic about the smallest of things. My comfort book used to be Anne of Green Gables, can you believe?" he chuckled along with her. "Do you know it?" 

She arched her eyebrows. "It may sound sexist to say, but I think every little girl was forced to read it."

"I can't think of a single character of that series without getting nostalgic," he shook his head, clutching at his chest. "Matthew Cuthbert."

_ "Matthew Cuthbert," _ she repeated, clutching at her chest teasingly, and thanked God for Sergio's inebriated state because he didn't hold back from instantly staring down. 

After tearing his gaze away and pouring her another shot, he heaved a sigh. "Why do you need God today?" 

She chuckled airily, avoiding the question. 

"You don't like answering personal questions all too much," he grunted, "do you?" 

Raquel shrugged.

He hummed with a nod. "Alright, then. Follow me." 

"What?" she pulled her eyebrows together. "Why?" 

"Let's do something," he murmured, staggeringly leading the way into the empty corridor. "You'll confess your sins to me, through the confession dial." 

"No, no! I don't do confession!" 

"Think of it as something familiar, like a therapy session," he offered, grinning. 

She couldn't help the airy laugh bubbling out of her throat. "Smart of you using my own words against me with an opposite meaning. But I don't know," she sighed, "confession sounds dodgy." 

"Dodgy?" 

"Yes!" she giggled. "You listen through a hole, not even looking at me, while I reveal all my weaknesses to me, so you can ultimately trap me and control me. Dodgy, if you ask me."

"How does that differ from a therapy session?" 

"The lack of eye contact. I like eye contact."

Sergio considered it briefly, before narrowing his eyes. "Hm, but I don't think that's true, Raquel," he said softly. "I think the lack of contact is exactly what might help you open up. And you can stop anytime. Just think of it as talking to God, through me. No judgment."

"God?" she smirked. "Well, aren't you pretentious?" 

He straightened, one hand on his hip while the other held a glass of scotch, his chin high. "Yeah, I am," he amended, then he raised an index and grinned, "but aren't you dying to vent? I will never tell anyone. None of what you say will go out of these four walls."

"What if I burst into flames for not believing in God?" 

"It'll confirm my Faith if you do, so let's try it!" 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


"How am I even supposed to start?" 

Sergio chuckled on the other side. "You say,  _ Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."  _

Raquel shook her head, laughing. While the idea of saying so in a different context burst a fire between her legs, this was not it. "I'm not saying that."

"Alright, good,  _ Doctora,  _ have it your way. Then you must say how long it's been since your last confession." She shook her head, humming a negative response. God only knew how long it had been for her. "Alright, then I say that's okay, and blah, blah, blah. And then I ask you  _ what's  _ on your mind, I ask you to confess your s…"

"Sins," she amended with a laugh.

"Yes, if you want." 

She rolled her eyes. "I don't see why I should do this." 

"I promise, it'll make you feel better. At the least, you'll have lifted a weight off your chest." In an exaggerated whisper, he added, "And I just want to  _ know _ your secrets." 

A laugh bubbled out of her throat. She paused to think, to collect her thoughts. According to Catholic etiquette she'd done more than enough to confess for years without ever being fully saved. 

She sighed, gulping down her shot, then she admitted, "I lied."

"Alright," the priest hummed. "About what?" 

"The miscarriage." A pause. "I've had some in the past, unfortunately, before and after Paula, but this one…" she pulled at her face, groaning. "It was my sister's, Laura's." 

"I see. Why?" 

Albeit there was no judgment in his voice, she winced anyway. "She didn't want it. She was afraid of Alberto, I think and she let me take it, because I could handle it better. I think subconsciously she already believed me that he'd abused me, and was terrified of his reaction." 

"He abused you?" 

Raquel nodded, then berated herself for it, because he doesn't see her. "Yeah. For years. At first he was sweet, kind, charming, then he only asked me to change my profile picture, or to wear longer dresses and I thought, hey, he's sweet! But then he started raising his voice, and his hands, and soon enough he raised his voice on Paula and I left him."

She bit her lower lip to stop it from shivering. "I denounced it too late, with no proof. Not that there would have been much earlier. He always made sure to hit me in place it couldn't be seen. Sometimes he'd choke me and force me to stay at home for a few days to heal the bruises." 

"You don't have to tell me everything, Raquel," the priest said softly "I understand." 

"No," she shook her head. "I feel like I sinned, Father. Because, you see, I cheated on him once. That's a sin. Adultery. And then," she breathed in a shaky breath, "when the police didn't believe me at all, although I'd already left them, I decided, all too late, to uncover their corruption." 

"How is that—?" 

"That same night my best friend got drunk and killed himself and three kids in a car accident. Because I'd uncovered him, too. I had dirt on everyone." She paused to wipe at a tear. "I  _ killed _ him, Father." 

"You didn't." 

"I did," she insisted. "Anyway, more sins. Uh," she chuckled tearfully, "I've had impure thoughts. I've slept with people outside of marriage. And with that friend, well,  _ inside _ his marriage. I've lied more times than I can count and I haven't confessed in years. Oh, and," she giggled, "I've masturbated." 

Sergio chuckled on the other end. 

"I also…" she trailed off, "got mad at a priest for trying to be there for me, because I was so fucking upset. Because I failed my daughter. I didn't protect her well enough from my abusive ex husband. And…"

"It's okay, go on. You're forgiven." 

She shook her head firmly. "And…" 

"Go on." 

"I'm frightened." 

"Of what?" 

"Of being a bad mother. And a terrible daughter. And an even worse sister." 

Sergio sighed. "And?" 

"And I'm ashamed," she admitted, frowning at the empty glass. "I'm ashamed of not knowing what I…" 

"It's okay not to know what you want." 

Raquel scoffed with a laugh. "I know what I want." She breathed in deeply, her watery eyes laying on the hole where Sergio's face was covered by a cloth. "Trust me, I know  _ exactly _ what I want." She paused. "Right now." 

Sergio waited a few beats before asking, "What is that?" 

"It's bad." 

"I'm sure it's not." 

She swallowed thickly, arching her eyebrows. "I want someone to tell what to wear in the morning." 

The priest laughed. "I think there are apps or people who can—." 

"No," she interrupted him. "I want someone to tell me what t _ o  _ wear  _ every _ morning. I want someone to tell me what to like, and what to hate. What museums to visit, and what exhibitions to admire. What music to listen to, or what shows to watch. I want someone to tell me who to  _ vote _ for and what to believe in. How to raise my daughter right, and how to love her properly. I want someone to tell me  _ who _ to  _ love. _ And how to…" she paused to sob, "tell them. I think," she chuckled, "I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far I think I've been getting it wrong." 

Silence. 

Shaking her head, she let the tears stream down her face. "And I  _ know _ that's why people want someone like you in their lives, Father, because you just tell them what to do, and they can follow it blindly. You give them  _ hope _ that they'll get a better end out of this, and I know it doesn't make sense at all. Nothing I do makes a difference in the end, but I'm still  _ scared.  _ Why am I still scared?" 

When no answer came again, she sobbed." So, just tell me what to do, Father. Tell me what to fucking  _ do." _

The cloth on the other side was thick enough not to let her see Sergio at all, so she could only wait, a frown on her face, silence enveloping her in a terrifying hug that clutched at all her deepest fears and enhanced them. 

Then, with a voice so low it was nearly a growl, Sergio said, "Kneel." 

She pursed her lips. "What?" 

"Kneel. Just kneel." 

Slowly and without much certainty, she straightened her back and laid her knees on the ground until she was kneeling. 

An expectant feeling settled in her chest. She looked forwards towards the curtains separating her from the rest of the church and sighed, eyebrows pulled together in a frown. 

A beat passed, then another.

First appeared a hand, pulling at the curtain, then came the priest's solemn face. A dark look was in his brown eyes, and it was directed only at her, his firm gaze fixed upon her fretful eyes. 

Her neck strained to look up, but she awaited patiently, mouth agape. 

Slowly, but surely, he lowered himself. One leg first, then the other, until he was kneeling before her, above her eye level but much less than before. 

A shaky hand came to rest upon her cheek, stroking it softly. His gaze lowered upon her lips, staring without shame. And, as time stretched inexplicably and her chest heaved in anticipation, he lowered his face towards her, gentle lips laying upon hers almost tortuously slow. 

It lasted only a second, and then he began pulling away, but, regaining consciousness of her actions, her hand immediately grabbed the nape of his neck and pulled his down, crashing their lips together with much more intent. 

It was like kissing Heaven itself, each stroke of lips sending a lick of fire between her legs. She felt like falling apart, so he held her, strong hands first on her forearms, then on her face, then on her lower back. 

Neither seemed to be able to get enough. Her head tilted to allow better access, while a fist tightened around her hair to make her part lips with a gasp. As soon as she did, his wet tongue poked at her lip and pushed inside with surprising force. She moaned, grabbing at his hair to lower the distance between even more so as she maneuvered them into a standing position, her back against the confession dial.

Big hands roamed on her back, grabbing at her ass to make her hook her legs around his middle. Arching her back, she rolled her hips around his hot center, relishing in the feel of his hardening member. 

When they parted for breath again, she tried to pull up his stupid tunic. His hot mouth laid tantalizing kisses across her neck while she struggled, laughing. 

"Jesus, it's a skirt  _ and _ pants?" she laughed and his breathy laugh vibrated on her throat with a stroke of his tongue. 

Her head rolled back as she squeezed her eyes shut, before her lips resumed their job kissing him. The pants could wait. 

She was lost in his mouth, in his hands. If this was what kissing a priest was like, she'd make it her mission to seduce each and every one of them. A soft nibble at her lower lip, made her reconsider, though: just this one priest was enough. 

She moaned again, desperate for some more friction. His hands on her hips were great, his mouth on her lips was—. 

Something crashed. 

With a start, she realized a painting of Jesus had fallen, like a  _ sign _ and Sergio's hands and lips parted from her almost achingly quickly. 

"Father—," she attempted, grabbing at the lapels of his shirt, but he was already walking away, no even daring to look into her eyes, his own downcast. 

As he was nearing the end of the corridor he turned, however, and his soft, apologetic gaze locked with hers. He shook his head, as if it explained everything, and he disappeared into the darkness. 

In his absence, her heart fell. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! chapter four is ready soon enough but, unlickily, i have only written the beginning of chapter five so... we'll see.
> 
> i hope you all enjoy it!


	5. Bachelor/ette party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raquel learns some shocking news through the TV and comes face to face with her desires and overcomes challenges.

* * *

Waffles for breakfast were perhaps not her favorite choice of meal as was, instead, the hot cup of espresso in her hand, but after forcing Paula to eat healthily for at least three days, the girl, in the early aftermath of her seventh birthday, was owed more. 

Light shimmered through the curtains of the kitchen, illuminating Paula and Laura's still sleepy faces, casting a shade only over their tired eyes. Their plates had been emptied through and awaited a refill. Raquel smiled softly at the view, her still heavy heart shaking off a weight.

"What are you smiling at?" Laura quipped, propping her chin against her hands. 

_ Last time I saw them together in a kitchen Ángel was still alive.  _ "Thinking about God," she retorted instead, turning back to flip the waffles onto the plates.

"God?"

_ And a priest. _ "I've found myself becoming religious, lately. I’m not sure if it’s the Catholic aesthetic,”  _ or the priest I want to fuck,  _ “or some divine intervention, but I think something about the Faith is just incredibly S-E-X-Y."

Laura gasped exaggeratedly, covering Paula's ears as though it could help now that the words had been spoken, and rolled her eyes at her sister. "Just give us the waffles, you," she scoffed and winked playfully at the girl after releasing her. She tickled her sides to elicit playful giggles – Raquel would be a liar if she said they didn't cheer her up to no end.

She sighed in contentment, picking up the two plates and putting them before the two. They'd already eaten two each, so this was just the very end. "Here you go, waffle-monsters." 

"Won't you be eating as well?"

_ I never eat breakfast.  _ "I've already eaten," she lied.

"Coffee isn't food as far as I know," Laura noticed and cut her waffle in two. "Eat."

"Yes, mami, eat! Be a waffle-monster with us!" chirped Paula helpfully, mouth full with her own waffle. "Actually—."

"Eat first, then speak," she reminded her, then glanced at Laura's waffle with a scowl. "I ate some bread," she tried, "I did."  _ I didn't.  _ "And you're as thin as a stick, you must eat."

Laura arched her eyebrows, but before she could scoff back, Paula slapped her hand on the table. "Can I go watch TV now, mami?"  _ She still has half a waffle left. They're teaming up to make me eat.  _ "I'm so  _ full.  _ I'm not hungry anymore at all," she dragged her words as children do and stood up. "Please!"

As she was about to respond, the doorbell rang loudly. Raquel jumped up instantly and, with a hand raised towards her daughter and a "Fine, go" on her lips, she grabbed at the handle with the other.

She recognized the voice even before she fully looked at the face. "Morning," said Martín, a grin on his lips and a holed box in his hands. 

"Father Martín?" she furrowed her brows, her eyes casting down at the box. "Morning."  _ I would have preferred a different priest.  _ "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"May I come in?" he didn't wait for a reply, simply stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "I won't be long."

"Sure, be my guest," she laughed at the absurdity of the man. "What's in the box?"

"Ah, yes, the reason of my visit," he nodded sagely. "No, I came here to say goodbye." At Raquel's surprised gaze. "I am leaving this parish for personal reasons.  _ This _ is a parting gift."

Raquel blinked. "What?"

He shoved the box into her hands and squared his shoulders. As she uncovered the lid, his grin widened. "Her name is Tatiana. She's a guinea pig. She could be a partner for Sofia."

Raquel glanced at the soft, furry animal and stared into the distance blankly.  _ It's a hamster.  _ "Thank you," she smiled. "But," she led him into the kitchen, that had been abandoned by Laura and Paula for the comforts of the living room, and gently laid the hamster into Sofia's cage, "we haven't seen each other in so long and you barge into my house… you can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No!” she heaved a sigh. “Why are you leaving?"

The priest huffed. "I'm not going to apologize for barging in," he tsked. "Well, sorry, but, the thing is that things have gotten complicated in the household and I am not wanted anymore. So! I am being transferred into another parish. Or I might leave the Faith altogether."

"It is a drag."

"Such a drag. And not even a queen." He shook his head. "I would love to catch up some more with you, like if you've found a better man and if you've been getting laid, and all that crap."

"Don't you dare."

He waved his hand. "But I must leave. I hope you can appreciate the guinea pig,"  _ hamster,  _ "and I hope to see you again someday."

"What the fuck?" she grabbed his arm and glared right into his face "What did you do?" 

Martín shrugged, freeing himself from her grip. "Fell in love." 

Hands on her hips, in her typical mom stance, Raquel arched her eyebrows with a scoff. 

_ Bullshit.  _

Not that it was entirely a lie, there was too thick a layer of pain across the surface of his words for them to be entirely false. It was as though he'd truly opened up his heart to someone, in more ways than one. But Raquel could let his incomplete truth slide. "No," she told him, as though he were a kid she was scolding at school and not a priest with anger issues and whose homosexuality surely didn't agree much with his faith. 

"Kissed Andrés de Fonollosa and was asked by him to leave," Martín feigned reluctance. 

The woman could read right through him, and through his annoyed demeanor. 

_ Sort of bullshit, too, although I do believe it.  _

Love was definitely involved, but with a man as crazy as Martín, it would never be the sole motive. Not with a dude like this. Not that she doubted the love Martín felt for Andrés – Sergio had mentioned it all too clearly. 

_ Stop thinking about Sergio.  _

"I spent two years planning a heist with Andrés and we were about to execute it quite soon and Sergio found our plans, and because he was in a  _ dreadful _ mood already," the priest rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, as though the other had behaved like a dramatic prick, "he called it a suicide mission,"  _ Surely was, knowing Martín,  _ "and now he wants me out." 

"Dreadful mood?"

Raquel bared her teeth and shrugged at no one in particular.  _ My bad.  _

"Horrendous. You wouldn't know," he shrugged. "You don't know him, but God he's so annoying sometimes.  _ All _ because of a stupid heist."

"Stupid heist," she confirmed. 

"He can plan one, a hypothetical one, with no victims because he's an  _ idealistic _ garbage of a man, but God forbid I try doing it with Andrés." His shoulders fell with a sigh. 

"To be fair, yours wouldn't be victimless," she pointed out with a grin. 

"With Fonollosa's gorgeous smile and my killer gun… yeah," he amended, then, as though he'd remembered something, he glanced at his wristwatch and nodded, "but I really must leave now." He squeezed her cheek and blew her a kiss. "Bye." 

Raquel didn't even have time to blink, or to consider neither the complications that might come from his departure nor the thought of opening the door for him, when both Paula and Laura screamed in the living room.

Soon as she ran up to them and, heart in her throat, her gaze landed on the TV, she gasped.

_ Detective Alberto Vicuña has been arrested on the charges of sexual assault, abuse of power and corruption _ , said the TV.

Raquel wasn't sure if she should smile or cry, so she did both.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


"I can't believe you-know-who was  _ arrested," _ admitted Daniel, glancing sideways at the Murillo sisters while Cincinnati wriggled into his arms from his seat. "On what charges, did you say?" 

His wife sighed while grabbing at a large bouquet of white roses from the backseat. "Corruption, S-E-X—."

"I  _ can _ spell words, you know? I'm seven, not four," groaned Paula whose hands were in Laura and Raquel's own respectively, the girl standing between them. Her shoulders were hunched down and she had a gloomy look in her eyes. 

"Right," said Laura while Raquel covered the girl's ears, allowing her sister to speak. "Sexual assault and abuse of power." 

"I still  _ hear!"  _ exclaimed the girl.  _ She's not in a great mood. If I had known, I would have never let her turn on the TV. Now she's upset at me for not allowing her to see her father in prison right away.  _ "And you're being  _ mean,  _ my papi,"  _ Ditto,  _ "is a good person." 

"Your papi loves you, but—." 

"No!" the girl stomped her feet on the ground, hands clenched into fists. "Whatever you say is a lie." 

With that said, she ran off towards Mariví and Agustín's house, leaving everything behind, included a group of confused adults.

"Should we follow her?" asked Daniel, shifting on his feet, an uncomfortable air about him. 

"She's just upset about her father," admitted Raquel with a deep sigh. Albeit knowing how dreadful Alberto was and rejoicing in his arrest, she felt the girl's pain. 

Daniel nodded, a distant look in his eyes. _His father was arrested more_ _that once._ "It's rough losing a pa—." Cincinnati chose that specific moment to start crying, shutting him up properly. 

Mónica whined, wrestling her bouquet into Laura's arms while she searched for his bottle. "Fuck," she groaned. 

"Fuck!" repeated the crying toddler, appearing excited only shortly before returning to his cries again. 

"Kids are hell," said Laura firmly, the large bouquet covering her sly smile, but Raquel knew it was there. 

The two women attempted a defence, while Daniel laughed his signature laughter saying, "So they are!" earning a slap on his shoulder and a glare from his wife. 

They laughed in complete silence for a brief moment, relishing in the chirping birds and in the low sun scorching their backs while Cincinnati wailed less and less. It was like this, with their heads low to hide their amused features, that Paula's voice calling from the porch captured them. 

"Mami! Abuela is awaiting you!" 

Laura sighed, fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose while her arms struggled at keeping up the flowers. "Never thinking of me. I'll—." 

"Do you need help with the flowers?" Raquel offered. 

"Fuck off, Mónica gave them to me, it's my job now," she scoffed, holding them as a predator might hold a caught prey. Raquel arched her eyebrows at no one in particular.  _ Hates not being in the center of attention. _ "I'll pay a hundred euros anyone who will stop this wedding from happening." 

"Don't let Silene hear that," laughed Daniel.

Mónica stopped cooing at her son briefly to nod. "She's worked her ass off for it. She'll strangle anyone with her bare hands if they so much breathe in the wrong direction."

"Not that I'd blame her. If someone destroyed all my plans and projects…" 

Mónica didn't try to contain the grin that grew upon her lips. "Like fucking a priest?" 

Laura widened her eyes. "A priest?" 

_ A priest. Which won't happen.  _

"Maaaamiiiii!" called Paula again. 

The interruption allowed Raquel to change the subject as the four adults began slowly walking towards the house. "Speaking of Silene," she muttered, "I'll have to finally take on that offer to fuck her lawyer." 

"Really?  _ Alicia Sierra?"  _ Daniel whistled. "Julia and Silene have been trying to get into her pants for months." 

"Oh, Julia's told me  _ she's  _ gotten into them," admitted Mónica with a twinkle in her eyes. In a hushed tone, she added. "She came  _ nine _ times apparently." 

_ Impossible, but impressive.  _ Raquel chuckled. "Whether that's true or not," she laughed, "I need to thank her. However unpleasant—.”

“I think you mean  _ pleasant,”  _ Daniel cut right in with a loud laugh.

Raquel rolled her eyes. “All I mean is that I never thought she'd get him  _ arrested _ and whatever she d—." 

Paula's small frame running into her cut her off mid-thought. "We're going in," she wrapped her small hand around her mother's wrist and tugged,  _ "now!"  _

Raquel tried protesting weakly with a suppressed laugh. "Oh, no, Paula! you're hurting me!" she told her, but she didn't wriggle out.

"They're _ waiting _ for you," she insisted, and promptly tripped on one of the stairs, caught mid-air only by her mother. "Sorry, mami. Abuela is just so excited..."

"Alright, alright," she ruffled her hair and let get of her hand, following her into Agustín and Mariví's corridor with a mirthful smile. 

Laura's scowl reflected in the large mirror hung on the wall. "Isn't she excited to see me as well?" 

With all the innocence and playfulness of childhood, Paula shook her head. "No!" 

The rest of the group, small Cincinnati included, laughed all the way to the living room, where, as soon as her eyes scanned the room, Raquel's laughter died in her throat. 

"Father?"

Sergio tilted his head bashfully. "Raquel," he said, his soft voice tinted with something akin to guilt, and he glanced at the other people behind her. "Mónica, Daniel and… Marta?" 

"Not even the priest knows my name," she groaned, then added, “It’s Laura.”

"Sorry, Laura, I've had so much on my mind," he amended, then shook his head. "Fuck, I didn't expect the whole family to be here." He laughed. "Fuck it, might as well. Alright," he pulled at his face, "I came here, cause my brother has been having complications—."

"Complications?"

_ Yes, a heist.  _ "Of what nature?" Raquel asked, feigning concern.

"Well," the priest put a hand on the nape of his neck. "Uh, he's been having issues."

"Issues?"

He nodded, smiling embarrassedly. "Yes, issues. He, uh, he's sick, you see, and I must attend to him, right now."

Mariví frowned with a confused smile upon her lips. "Sick?"

The priest shifted on his feet, glancing at the family as though he'd killed their father. "Yes, uh, sick."

Raquel snorted, not allowing him to say what he really wanted to say. She wouldn't let him ruin her mother's wedding. "What with?"

"Uh," Sergio bit his lower lip, his eyes scanning every single person slowly before his shoulders fell. "Stairs. He fell down the stairs."

"Down the stairs?"

Sergio nodded. "Yes, and I shall leave the duties to Martín—."

"Martín is leaving," Raquel noticed. "He's leaving the parish for a better opportunity. Not that I blame him." There was bravery in abandoning a life so well worked on. Although, of course, Martín had barely worked on anything.

Sergio seemed properly surprised by her knowledge. He bobbed his head in agreement, hands on his sides. "You're right. But worry not, anyone will be there in his stead. I actually know a friend, his name is Luka…"

"Forgive me saying this, Father," Agustín furrowed his thick brows, "but I don't understand what you—." 

The lights went off, letting his words drift off. Darkness enveloped them in a tight embrace, confusion spreading its seeds while Cincinnati's cries began anew. A hand gripped at Raquel's, tight and small — Paula. 

_ Paula!  _

"Mami, what is—." 

"Greetings, everyone," said a loud, booming voice. It appeared male, and modified by some program. Perhaps an enhancing program, or even a gender-modifier. "My name is Tokyo,"  _ Silene,  _ "and my elf on the shelf is Rio,"  _ Ánibal?  _ "And you all must be wondering why we've turned off the lights." 

Daniel's accusing voice called, "Yeah! Cincinnati had  _ just _ stopped crying, fucker!" 

"Yes, it's true, we are amazing for having organized something as ingenious. But, you see," the voice continued in a tilted tone, "this is just the beginning." A pause. "We're just a day away from the great wedding and we all know how much late planning has gone into this. Today, is part of the plan: the bachelor  _ and _ bachelorette party, all together!"

The voice paused, as though expecting cheers. 

"I know you're all excited," the voice confirmed Raquel's thoughts, "but first, we must announce something: we have just kidnapped Mariví and Agustín."  _ What?  _ "Don't be upset. You'll see them again."

"Oh,  _ great!" _ Daniel scoffed. 

"We're very generous, but you must follow instructions, lest your parents and or loved ones suffer," announced Tokyo in her deep, gloomy voice. "You have time until 8pm to solve all the riddles and to join us at the last meal before  _ freedom."  _

"Whoever refers to marriage as slavery is in an unhappy marriage," commented Mónica from whichever corner of the room, "and should get a divorce." 

Daniel agreed with a nervous laughter.

"You will be given red jumpsuits, fake rifles and Disney masks," continued Tokyo, "as well as city names appropriate for each and every one of you. Some of you are yet to join you on your future tasks, but you'll see." 

The lights went up, revealing the lack of Mariví and Agustín in the room, as well as the presence of red jumpsuits with rifles set neatly on top along with masks, all spread around the room, each possibly belonging to a particular person. 

"Enjoy."

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

__

  
  
  
  
  


A Donald Duck mask attached to her face on a string, a fake rifle between her hands and a scowl in her eyes that could only be seen weakly through the slits of the mask, Raquel stood before the priest and said, "I know what you're trying to do, and you're being very unfair."

Sergio looked up from the Daisy Duck mask he was observing in surprise, eyes dazed. "What?" he asked, softly. Then, before she could retort, he tapped on the mask with a choked laugh. "Kind of ironic that I'm Daisy and you're Donald."

She furrowed her brows, propping herself against the fake rifle. "They’re just cartoons, do they really need gender?"

"But we  _ match," _ he noticed, as though it were obvious that he'd been referring to this. "I'm sorry," Sergio shook his head, sighing, "you were saying?"

"You're trying to abandon your task, give it off to someone else," she explained.

Sergio pushed his glasses up his nose, nodding. With his figure hunched, he appeared not much taller than her. "It's true," he admitted after a pause, "I promise I can find  _ anyone _ else, and I'll still help you find Agustín and Mariví in this absurd heist, but I can't do it." 

"But," she poked him with a feigned smile, "you've already got the dress!" 

"You're right about that." 

"And you said it yourself that no one would be able to rock it as well you," she pointed out. "Certainly not that Luka guy." 

Sergio laughed. "Oh, yeah, no, he's a bit bulkier than I. But the thing is that…" he sighed, staring right into her eyes, "I can't. This life I've built, these people I need to help — I can't." 

"I'm not asking you to rip off your nightgown and abandon God and your family for me, Father," she joked.

"I know," he said, grabbing at her hands to hold it between them, "but you know as well as I do that it wouldn't be as simple as that." 

She grinned, joy not reaching her eyes, only tears prickling there, "Guess it'll be very awkward coming to Church now with you preaching and all, won't it?" 

"Raquel," the priest said firmly, more serious than before, "never come back to my Church ever again. Your mother and your daughter may, but not you." When she laughed, hurt writ in her gaze, he added, "I mean this with the greatest of compliments." 

"I should be flattered, then, huh?" 

Sergio pursed his lips. "Yes." His hand laid gently upon hers squeezed while his thumb caressed her skin in an unknown rhythm. "Listen, Raquel. I know this was just your way of challenging God, and I know I am making you fail, and I'm so deeply sorry for that, but trust me when I say this: you've come closer to God than anyone ever has and for that I am eternally grateful." 

"Right," she scoffed, a smile upon her lips, "I've come second, but honorably." 

"Second to God," he confirmed, "and isn't that worthy of praise?" 

Raquel shook her head. "My fault for challenging God, I su—." 

"Come on, everyone," Daniel clapped his hands together, disrupting everyone's peace, "we have the clues, we need to put them together!" 

Laura arched her eyebrows. "Why do you want to solve this so quickly,  _ Denver?" _

"I’m  _ Dani, Derry—.” _

“It’s  _ Londonderry, _ asshole.”

Daniel ignored her. “Anyway, I just want to see my father safe!" 

Raquel laughed, leaving Sergio's side so quickly it was as though she had been scorched. "Are you sure it's not because you want all the food and drinks that come with the bachelor party all to yourself, so that you can drown yourself in them and forget your fatherly duties for once?" 

Daniel blanched, processing the words with a finger raised at the woman. 

"Both can– both can e– together—." 

Mónica supplied kindly. "Coexist." 

"Yes!" he nodded. "Coexist." 

"Fine!" Raquel threw her hands in the air. "What are our clues, Denver?"

Daniel only needed a few seconds to realize she was speaking to him, before he turned around with incredible speed and grabbed at his own mask.  _ A Dumbo mask, which digs at his ears for sure.  _ "Here!" he pointed at the back of his mask where, with a tiny font, was written something. "It says  _ 'Church of England' _ , which I'm guessing is not just, you know, where it was made or something."

"Anglican, then," said Sergio, a notebook and a pen in his hand. "Could be either the first letter of something or an indication."

Raquel flashed him a confused grin. "Where'd you get that, Professor?"

He shrugged, a grin of his own on his lips and an eyebrow arched. "I always come prepared, Lisbon." 

"Is there anything else you're hiding underneath your gown?" she grinned.

"Why don't—," he interrupted himself with a start as though he'd only then realized his surroundings, a crimson blush creeping on his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. "Let's check all of our masks, jumpsuits and possibly rifles as well for clues, then."

"Do what the Professor says," Raquel suggested, a flush on her own cheeks as well. 

"I think I have mine!" said Mónica, twisting in her jumpsuit to reveal the label. "Hold up, I'll need to, uh," she wriggled Cincinnati into Daniel's arms, then stepped out of her jumpsuit. "Fuck, this is small."

"Fuck!" Cincinnati clapped his hands.

"Who's good at—."

Laura grabbed the jumpsuit. "My eyesight is apparently perfect, according to my oculist."  _ Showoff.  _ When her sister looked down at the label with narrowed eyes, Raquel added,  _ And a liar. _ "Alright, this says… ' _ A form of government in which the power belongs to everyone'... _ Anarchy?"

"Oligarchy," corrected Sergio and Raquel simultaneously. The man glanced at her with a surprised smile to which she shrugged.  _ He's not the only nerd. _ She winked at no one in particular and he followed suit, with a dumb look on his face. "Who'd you wink at, Lisbon?"

The rest of the group frowned. "Wink?"

Raquel played dumb, laughing. "Yeah, wink?"

"Play dumb, play dumb," he scoffed with a snort. "But fine, we have  _ oligarchy _ and  _ anglican _ which is now starting to feel like a really messed up crossword puzzle."

"Yes!" A glimmer of excitement flickered in Raquel's eyes. "Maybe the first letter of each word will form another word, which will be an indication!"

Mónica nodded sagely. "And we already have O and A."

Paula found her clue on the thin strap of her mask, which referred to the solid state of water, which Laura instantly named  _ ice _ , giving them the letter I, although both Sergio and Raquel argued about the full truthfulness of it. Laura herself found her own clue on the zipper of her jumpsuit, on which Sergio and Raquel's knowledge of food branges was tested, eventually turning out to be  _ Nestle, _ giving them the letter N.

On Raquel's rifle was carved, _"’Food chain from which Denver was banned for accidentally starting a food fight with_ _everyone’,"_ which drew Daniel's attention and laughter.

"McDonald's?" Mónica proposed.

Daniel shook his head. "No, I'm banned from McDonald's for fighting a kid who stole my fries."

"Pretty sure he didn't."

"Pretty sure he did."

Raquel rolled her eyes. "KFC?"

"No," he tsked. "I punched a server who insulted Julia there and was banned forever."

Mónica smiled softly, then patted his back. "You were also banned for trying to give them counterfeit bills, several times, and for refilling your cup way too many times."

Daniel scoffed. "If it's _ refillable  _ then I  _ will _ refill it as much as I can."

"You  _ broke _ their machine."

Sergio raised his hands. "Fine, fine, was it… that food chain where they mostly make like red meat and quite thick fries?"

"Burger King?" Raquel supplied with a mirthful smile. It was surprising that the  _ priest _ of all people knew of Burger King.

"No, no, they give these… sort of crowns?"

Raquel scoffed. "Yes, crowns for Burger  _ King?" _

"Oh, yeah, it's Burger King. Was it Burger King, Denver?"

It was. And they got the B. Both the priest and Raquel already had an inkling for what the word could be, but it took finding a clue in a pocket of the priest's jumpsuit which led to the word of  _ infringement,  _ adding another I to the collection, and a clue on Goofy's mask — Cincinnati's — which led to  _ rural _ for their suspicion to be confirmed.

"Not to sound stupid," said Daniel dumbly, "but who's Nairobi? And does anyone actually know why the  _ fuck _ are we wearing jumpsuits and fake guns? Are we robbing a bank?"

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


"Yeah, we're sort of robbing a bank."

Ágata was also wearing a red jumpsuit but she'd lowered her Peter Pan mask to speak. Her hair was unlikely braided and pulled back and on her ears she'd put dangling earrings.

Raquel shook out of her daze to retort, "What?" 

"How?" Sergio furrowed his brows. "We have no real guns!" 

Laura nodded. "And no robbing experience." 

"Well," Daniel laughed his signature laugh, "I might have some, but not enough to rob a bank!" 

"Not to mention that there's  _ children _ with us," Mónica added, lifting up Cincinnati up to her face as though to showcase him like a doll. "I can't rob a bank with a child!" 

"Right, speaking of children," Daniel poked his son's nose, "it's a good thing you're holding him, cause I've gotta pee and I see a Starbucks there,"  _ He's oddly enough not banned from Starbucks,  _ "I'll be right back." 

Ágata sighed, hands on her hips. "Okay… anyway. Maybe if you  _ listened _ to me, you wouldn't be fretting so much." The four remaining adults and the children zipped their mouths, staring at her blankly. She grinned at the scene, bowing theatrically. "Thank you. Now, I said  _ sort of,  _ because it's— well, it's —." 

"Go on, Ágata," the priest waved his hand at her encouragingly. 

"Nairobi. And I really shouldn't be telling you this." 

"But you will," Raquel arched an eyebrow. "For the Professor here." 

"Yes, for me." 

"I hate you," said Ágata, glaring at the pair. "But no! I need to stick to the plan! And the plan includes the children. Oh, and here's a key!" 

Laura snatched it away. "What's this for?" 

"I don't know. A locker inside the bank?" 

"So there is an  _ actual _ bank!" 

Ágata groaned. "I don't know! I just know it's not a real heist, just sort of like… a fake place. But I don't know where it is! Manila does, not me." 

Raquel tilted her head.  _ "Nairobi." _

Before Ágata could succumb into her wiles, Raquel's phone vibrated. 

_ Speak of the devil.  _ "Manila," she said in a serious tone. 

The woman on the other end replied in a weary, sad tone.  _ "Manila? Who's Manila?"  _ Raquel allowed for the words to sink in for her as she put her on speaker at Mónica's silent request.  _ "Oh! Fuck, right, I'm sorry,"  _ she sobbed,  _ "Yes, I'm Manila." _

"Manila?" Mónica eyebrows pulled together into a concerned frown. "Are you okay?" 

If she could be seen, she would have been vigorously shaking her head at them.  _ "No, I did something terrible!"  _

"Something terrible?" Mónica's eyes widened. "Fuck, where are you?" 

_ "No, no, you don't need to come,"  _ she sobbed.  _ "I just— oh, I've ruined everything!"  _

It was Ágata's turn to widen her eyes. "Fuck, Julia, what have you done? Have you ruined the plan?" 

Julia sniffled through the phone.  _ "I just— I ruined everything!"  _

"We're coming, Manila," Raquel announced, ready to drop her fake rifle and to save Julia from any harm. "Just tell us where you are and Cincinnati and Paula—." 

_ "No, don't bring Cinci and Paula!"  _

Raquel shook her head, turning to Ágata. "Nairobi, you can take Cincinnati and Paula—." 

"No!" Paula stomped her foot angrily. 

"—to my house, where they can play with Sofia and Tatiana—."

_ "Who's Tatiana?!"  _ Julia wept, confused. 

Sergio appeared just as confused. "Tatiana?" 

"Yeah," Raquel offered him an airy chuckle, "Father Martín—or should I call him Palermo, for the operation?" Sergio shrugged.

_"Don't_ _call Palermo!"_

Raquel ignored her briefly. "He gifted me what he thought a guinea pig but is actually a hamster today, and apparently she's called Tatiana." 

"Is she ginger?" 

_ "Ginger? Alicia?"  _

"Yes," Raquel narrowed her eyes at Sergio, once again ignoring Julia. "Is that relevant?" 

The priest couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of his throat. "Yes!" he put a hand on his chest. "I'm sorry, but it's so typical of him, and so petty." The entire gang waited with bated breath as Sergio laughed. "He named her after my brother's fifth wife," Sergio explained between one laugh and another. 

_ "Fifth wife?"  _ Julia cried confusedly.  _ "Wasn't one enough?"  _

Just then Daniel came back from Starbucks with a bashful look on his face. The gang turned to him with deep frowns. "So, uh," he ran a hand through his hair, "I'm now banned from Starbucks cause they thought this fake gun was real."

Mónica sighed and, looking away from her husband, she clapped her hands. "Julia! Tell us where you are and we'll come there immediately!" 

As if right on cue, a large red van – with a Dalí face painted on the sides – driven by Mirko,  _ or Helsinki,  _ pulled up and the backdoors opened to a grinning Julia. 

"Get in, losers. Gave you a scare, didn't I?" 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


"Good afternoon," Raquel smiled widely at the entrance of the so-called bank. Apart from a fake ID which she showed off to the security, she had also been given a red dress and high heels to change into and was currently holding Paula by one hand while Father Sergio's hand hovered all too closely next to hers.

Her breath hitched when their hands brushed, and she had to physically restrain herself from succumbing to her heart's desires.

The priest leaned over to her ear. "I still don't understand why we're entering through the main door with the kids, pretending to be a couple _." _

Kids, plural, because Sergio had been forced to hold onto Cincinnati and, by the way he awkwardly held the baby, it was clear he had never done this before. 

"It makes us look more realistically like a couple," she pointed out and this time didn't resist the urge to squeeze his hand pointedly. 

He paused, unblinking. After a second, he breathed, "Why not Stockholm and Denver, then?" he noticed. "They're an actual couple and one of the children is theirs." 

"And Paula is mine," she said and, with a hushed tone, she added, "and she's still moody about her father so I can't make her anyone else's burden right now." 

"Yes, but—." 

"You can always bail out," she told him, offering a full-tooth grin, then stepped past the yellow security line. 

The priest shook his head and crossed the line after her. "Never. So, at Nairobi's cue—." 

Just then they heard Ágata's voice arguing with security. They shared serious stares and nodded. 

_ Now.  _

Raquel bobbed her head at Paula and the girl instantly grabbed at Cincinnati's small boot and, with all the joy of a seven year old who's just discovered it's Christmas, she threw it towards the security guard arguing with Ágata. 

As the guard turned in confusion towards the pair and the kids, Cincinnati began wailing for the loss of his boot, which drew everyone else's attention as well, their concerned gazes all on the small child. 

This gave Ágata the perfect opportunity to slip her bag of weapons in and, as the security beeped for the presence of rifles, the tall woman threw the weapons at the other two and, back to back with Cincinnati still wailing in Sergio's arms, they all pointed their – fake – rifles are the other, unfortunate customers. 

"Everyone, on your knees!"

A series of terrified screams echoed against the thin walls of the room, but no one went on their knees. A security guard pointed his gun at Raquel, but Ágata lightly hit him with her rifle and with feigned pain, the prop fell to the floor with no sound. Another guard charged at Sergio – one kick from Raquel's heel and Paula's excited foot and he was doubling over on the floor. 

"You're not supposed to  _ really _ hit me!" he complained.

Paula hit him again with a laugh. 

_ Wow. _

Raquel decided to ignore the sudden outburst of early onset violence just shown by her daughter and pointed her rifle at the masses and said, "This is what happens when you try to attack a priest."

Chaos ensured, real or not. 

Some people tried charging at the attackers, some begged the children who flapped their arms everywhere and everyone else just ran around with their hands on their mouths to avoid Paula's scary feet. 

Raquel pretended to cock her rifle. "On your knees, we said! And hands behind your back." The people quieted down. Slowly, but not surely, some of them even began lowering themselves to their knees. For good measure, she shouted, "Don't make me repeat myself!"

Quiet and peaceful apart from the silent whimpering, the floor filled with kneeling people. Behind them, the other four adults had managed to slip in from the back and were pointing their own rifles at the poor hostages. 

"Alright, listen up, folks," Ágata swooped in, walking through the lines of people, "you are now  _ hostages. _ Do you understand what that means?"

The props bobbed their heads.

"What does it mean then?" When no answer came, Ágata poked at the nearest hostage and asked, "What's your name, boy?"

The man rolled his eyes. "I'm not a boy."

"Alright," Ágata laughed, "girl, what's your name?"

"Matías," he gritted.

"Great, and what does  _ hostage _ mean?"

"I’d be more eager to answer," he replied, his chin high and his eyes narrowed thinly, “if you didn’t point your fucking rifle at my face.”

Raquel lifted her eyebrows up to her hairline, impressed at the bravery. Ágata didn’t take it as well, going off on a tirade of insults.

“I really feel like I shouldn’t be witnessing this,” muttered Sergio, his voice low, his eyes wide and his fists clenched. “As a priest, and as Nairobi’s legal guardian, of sorts. If this isn’t staged, she’s in serious legal trouble.”

“Relax a little,” Raquel poked his face with her free fingers, “she’s only threatening to stick her finger up his arse if he doesn’t cooperate in a few seconds. I don’t see any issues.”

With a mirthful smile quirking upon his lips, the priest feigned indignation by pointedly taking a step away from her. “Lisbon!” he gasped, chuckling airily.

“Professor,” she teased, biting the inside of her cheek. “Are you against the idea of fingers in someone’s ass?”

His face blanched. “Well,” he chortled, “not… not per—.”

“Matías is going to help! Lisbon, Derry,”  _ Londonderry, _ Raquel mouthed along with Laura, “and Paula – why doesn’t she have a nickname? – go with him. He’ll lead you to the locker room in which your locker is. From there on, you’ll have to look for yourself.” As Raquel, Laura and Paula moved after Matías, Ágata spun around to the rest and pointed at Julia. “You have the other two keys, right?”

Julia furrowed her brows. “I have one, for the Professor and Denver,” she said. “Helsinki had the third. Did no one ask Helsinki for the key?”

Raquel paused in her tracks and shook her head along with everyone else.

“Great,” she sighed. “And I presume he forgot, too. Fine, I’ll go fetch him. The key was for Stockholm, Nairobi and I. Great.”

After she left, Ágata turned to Raquel and the rest and waved her hand, an annoyed look on her face. “Come on, go, don’t make me waste my only free day!” To Daniel and Sergio, she arched her eyebrows. “You, too! Take Cincinnati with you.”

Raquel glanced at the hostage and tilted her head as they walked, “Were you supposed to annoy her this much?”

“No,” Matías chuckled, “I was only told to disagree with her but I went with the game and disagreed some more.”

* * *

There were way too many lockers. All with different numbers, and the numbers were not in order, but regardless of the order of things, Raquel couldn’t identify one simply because the key they had been given had no identifiable number, which meant that Laura and Raquel left the turning key job to Paula and they sat back to talk. Paula was, after all, very glad to take on such a task.

“So,” Laura said, not masking her amusement all too well, “you fucking the priest, aren’t you?”

Raquel widened her eyes.  _ I wish I was,  _ she informed no one in particular, nodding a curtsy. Her heart still hurt slightly for his rejection, but she didn’t let that affect her, at all. “No.”

“Come on, we haven’t talked to each other in over a year, tell me,” the younger sister noticed, smiling an encouraging smile.

“We talked this morning.”

“Don’t fuck with me, too, Raquel,” the sister scoffed. “You know what I mean. We haven’t  _ really _ talked in a long while, wouldn’t you say?”

_ Rich of her to say this,  _ Raquel chuckled, flashes of the past year coming back to her mind. Laura’s words were still like daggers to her back, the betrayal fresh in her heart. And it wasn’t just the accusation of having fucked up Ángel, like she thought she had, but the support she’d had for Alberto.  _ But it’s past, isn’t it? _ “What do you want to know?”

“If you’re fucking the priest!” Laura laughed as if it were obvious. Upon seeing Raquel’s annoyed look, she rectified, “If you’re seeing anyone, come on. There must be someone in your life.”

“If there was, you’d have seen them at my house, don’t you think?”

“Well,” Laura paused with a chuckle, eyebrows arched, “I did see a man coming into our house today. Not too bad looking himself, although the priest is hotter.”

_ Martín. _ “That was also a priest, actually.”

Laura stared at her briefly to decide if it was a joke or not, then burst out laughing. “You’ve got a thing for priests, don’t you?”  _ Wouldn’t you like to know, weather girl?  _ Raquel grinned.  _ Which she is. She announces the weather, usually, when she’s not busy, like today. _

“It’s the daddy issues,” Raquel informed her with a quirk of her lips.

“So?” Laura wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you fuck any of them?”

“Fuck, Derry,” Raquel groaned.

“Londonderry.”

“No, I haven’t fucked any of them. But almost.”

Laura cocked her head to the side, mouth agape. “Which one? The glasses one, right? The Professor?”

Raquel bobbed her head affirmative. “He kisses with so much passion I could have come right on the spot. But it’s complicated.”

“Fuck, Raquel,” Laura chortled, choking on her laughter. A hand to her mouth, she appeared at a loss of words, which Raquel was very glad for.

_ Sometimes all is needed with annoying little sisters, _ Raquel informed with a grin and a wink,  _ is the truth. _

“Mami!” Paula screamed, jumping up and down in front of an open locker. “Auntie! I’ve found it! I’ve found it!”

The older woman whistled in approval, standing up to join her at her side to look at the small box hidden in the locker. She gently picked it up and turned it round and round, then flipped the lid up to reveal—.

“An old MP3 player with earbuds?” Laura scoffed. “Did we go back to the early 2000s?”

Raquel glared at her sister. The object did seem like a throwback to the early 2000s, when she was still with Alberto and Paula wasn’t even born yet, but Laura's commentary wasn't needed. “Just put the earbuds on and listen to whatever’s on.”

Laura frowned. “Why me?”

As if right on cue, Raquel’s phone started buzzing. She held it up to her sister with a self-explanatory shrug, then looked down at her screen with a frown of her own.

_ Unknown caller. _

She blinked repeatedly and shrugged, swiping right to answer the call. “Hello, this is Raquel Murillo. Who am I talking to?”

_ “Raquel.”  _ The sound of the deep voice sent chills down her spine.  _ Alberto.  _ She gripped tightly onto the phone and gulped.  _ “I know this was your doing.” _

She chuckled weakly, blinking away the sudden tears. “I’m sorry,” she feigned ignorance, “who am I talking to?”

_ “You know who I am.”  _ A pause. Raquel held her breath.  _ “Alberto. God, woman, are you dead or just so excited to hear from me you’ve lost your ability to speak?” _

“You’re the fucking worst,” she spat, a bitter taste spreading in her mouth. “Is that how you’d speak to your daughter, too?”

_ “If she put me in fucking prison and wouldn’t talk to me,” _ he paused, an annoying tilt to his voice as though he were actually considering it, _ “yeah.” _

“You disgust me.”

_ “Right back at you,” _ he retorted angrily and a loud bang echoed through the line as though he’d slapped something.  _ “Is Laura with you?” _

Raquel scoffed, eyeing her sister who, however much she might wish to do so, couldn’t overhear as she was listening to the message by Silene. “What does it matter to you?”

_ “So she is,” _ he hummed.  _ “And Paula?” _

“Shut up, I’m hanging up,” she warned him, and yet her hand wouldn’t budge. She held it still as though she'd been petrified. 

_ “Yes, run, Raquel, as you always do,”  _ he said sweetly, his voice so nice it was almost easy to believe he wasn’t seeping poison.  _ “You know, Laura was so much happier until you walked into her life that evening. And now what, she thinks she’s happy, playing happy family with you?” _

The woman had nothing to say, so she only cringed into the distance, pretending his words didn’t affect her.

_ “You know, I’ve always wanted what was best for you, Raquel,” _ he told her, slowly,  _ “Why are always trying to do the opposite for me?”  _ Her fists clenched as she realized where he was going with it.  _ “Tell me, Raquel, what exactly did Ángel do to you for you to fuck him up so?” _

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grinded her teeth loudly. “And I know you’re deluded enough as to think that all your life problems come from me, but newsflash, asshole: you ruined my life. You did.”

_ “Always victimizing yourself,”  _ he reproached her mockingly.

“At least I’m not going to rot in jail for that,” she noticed, then, pulling the phone away from her face as to hear him less, she added in a shaky breath, “And I hope you do rot in jail. I hope they find you guilty of all charges and give you twenty years and that you serve all of them, because that’s what you deserve.”

_ “Oh,”  _ Alberto tsked,  _ “and you say that with Paula or Laura near? You are sick, woman. Ángel was right in that last recording of him: you are a jealous cunt, a piece of shit that’s only capable of ruining lives. You fucked him once, didn’t you, cheating whore?”  _ He paused for breath, only to continue with,  _ “A slut is what you are. I’ve heard you’re trying to fuck a priest, too?” _

“Fuck you,” she spat, scrunching up her nose.

_ “Sorry,”  _ he laughed,  _ “I don’t fuck with rats. But maybe you should start fucking someone. Like a lawyer, just to make sure I don’t get out of this mess.” _

She grinned though he couldn’t see her. “I’m actually about to fuck one today, thank you very much.”

With that, she closed the call, not even allowing herself to think of what comeback he could’ve come up with. When she glanced at Laura, it was clear she’d overheard some of it, and surely the end – Raquel blinked away the tears when she smiled and just as Laura opened her mouth to say something, anything, an explosion of voices collectively shouting at each other interrupted them.

“What the—.”

* * *

“—fuck, Dani?”

"You  _ punched," _ Laura enunciated the word carefully as Raquel glared at the man crouching on the floor with a bloodied nose, "a  _ priest?" _

Daniel spread his arms defensively. "It's not my fucking fault!"

“How is it—.”

Raquel crouched next to Daniel and shook his shoulders. “Where is he now?”

“How the fuck do I know?” Under Raquel’s glowering gaze, he rectified. “He left after I punched him, I didn’t see where.”

A line creased between her eyebrows as she stood back up. “Why is your nose bloody, then?”

At the mention of the bloodied nose, Mónica heaved a deep sigh. “When he launched to punch Father Sergio again, the man had already begun leaving and Dani here fell over and hit his face.”

“He was like a freaking ninja,” he mumbled, wincing when Mónica shoved ice against his nose. “Listen, it’s really not on me, alright?”

Laura scoffed. “What did he do that was so fucking terrible that you had to punch a  _ priest?” _

“Well, he,” Daniel spluttered, glancing fervently from side to side as if seeking support, “he doesn’t want to do the wedding anymore!”

“Yeah,” Mónica hissed, “after you punched he surely doesn’t. Is this the kind of example you want to set for our son? And for Paula? Because this was not acceptable.”

Daniel gaped, confusion writ in his gaze. “His brother is fucking Andrés de Fonollosa, Mon!” When Mónica didn’t reply, taking an uncertain step away from her husband, he pleaded, “I did us all a favor!”

_ How does he even know?  _ “Did he,” Raquel wasn’t sure how to formulate the question without incriminating herself as well for the knowledge, “did he tell you or— how do—?”

The man shook his head with a huff. “I—I just saw it on his phone, okay?”

“How did you see it on his phone?”

Daniel shrugged. “His phone vibrated, many times, and I just happened to see his fucking face, and name, and the message which, by the way, asked the fucking Father if he’d already told all of us he’s abandoning— wait, listen, why are you mad at me? He’s the one who’s brothers with a  _ criminal.  _ And not just any criminal!” Eyes skimming from person to person, he scoffed in desperation. “He tried to kill Mónica!”

“It’s not like he chose—.”

He shook his head angrily. “Why isn’t anyone even fucking surprised?!”

As soon as Raquel opened her mouth to muster any sort of excuse, Mónica breathed, “I found out when we went to Father Sergio’s house that day, so I’ve had enough time to get used to the idea. And I told the girls.”

Raquel frowned. “You didn’t—  _ oh.” She must’ve seen me talking to him.  _ “I thought if I didn’t tell you, you’d be spared.”

Mónica smiled a bitter smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she nodded and when she held out her hand to Raquel, she grabbed it as though they were children in kindergarten signing their peace.

Daniel ended the moment by abruptly standing up. “Why didn’t you tell  _ me?” _

“Because I was afraid you’d react the wrong way.”

He furrowed his thick brows. “The wrong way?”

“Yes! Like this! By fucking  _ punching _ the  _ priest!” _ Before Daniel could splutter another retort, she added, “Sometimes I’m afraid of the person you become when you get angry.”

“But—,” he paused, collecting his words, “but you knew,” he whispered. “We met like this.”

Mónica bobbed her head, biting her lower lip. “Foolish of me to think it was a one time thing. And it doesn’t matter,” she breathed in sharply, “at the end of the day, you said it yourself, it’s not your fault that he’s leaving.”

“Yeah, he was going to leave anyway! That’s at least what his brother asked him.”

Laura nodded. “Also, he told Raquel that he was thinking of doing that, I kind of overheard.”

_ Traitor. _

“Raquel, I love you, but are you hiding everything from us?” Mónica fixed her gaze with Raquel’s. “Did you fuck him, too?”

Raquel gasped, taking a step back. After a brief moment of hesitation, she whispered, “No.”

“You hesitated.”

She swallowed thickly, a lump growing in her throat. Worriedly, she glanced at her sister, expecting another blow, but it appeared that Laura didn’t want to divulge any more information than was needed.  _ If she tells them I kissed him, I’ll kill her. _ “I didn’t fuck him. And I’m not discussing this with my daughter around.” She scanned the room for Paula, but the girl was far enough not to hear, currently talking to the prop she’d kicked. “I didn’t fuck him, Mon, you have to believe me.”

Before Mónica could utter anything more, the entrance opened with a loud bang and a fuming Silene stepped in, Ánibal trailing after her like a wounded puppy.

“Raquel Murillo,” seethed the woman, striding angrily towards the older woman with a killer glare in her eyes that matched well the fake,  _ I hope that’s fake _ , rifle in her arms, “did you fucking fuck the priest?”

“No!” she whined. “I didn’t fuck him. I didn’t. And, frankly, we’re not even sure he’s abandoning his duties! He may have changed his mind!”

Julia scoffed. “Surely the punch Daniel threw at him was convincing enough.”

“Don’t bring me into this!”

Silene poked her finger at her cousin, shaking her head, “Oh, we definitely will, too. What the fuck were you thinking?” Without waiting for his response, she turned on the heel of her feet and grabbed at the fabric of Raquel’s dress, flaring her nostrils. “What the fuck did you do with him that he would hesitate about this?”

“Why do you assume it’s  _ my _ fault?”

Silene cocked her head to the side, arching her eyebrows, as though it were obvious. Upon Raquel’s insistent glare and squared jaw, Silene rolled her eyes. “Because you were talking about how much you wanted to fuck him. Fuck, he took you to a museum yesterday! And Ágata told me you came back very late at night yesterday and you were drunk.”

The older women glanced at the cowering Ágata with a hurt frown. “I went out for a drink!” she scoffed. “Sue me.”

“Don’t play games with me, Raquel,” Silene spat. “This is about Agustín and Mariví, and if you had anything to do with how their wedding might now not be fucking done.”

“If the priest decided that he doesn’t want to celebrate this wedding,” she gritted, “it’s his choice, not mine. I didn’t ask anything of him. On the contrary, I begged him not to do this.”

Silene appeared unconvinced. “Why would he step down, then?”

Raquel averted her gaze. “What do I know?”

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“Listen," Raquel sighed deeply, “perhaps it’s for the best anyway.” At the sight of everyone’s scorns, she scoffed. “Laura, you’ve said it yourself you don’t want it to happen! Because you know it doesn’t make sense.”

Silene furrowed her brows. “What, because my uncle is a criminal and the pig in you can’t accept that?”

Raquel couldn’t even muster a proper reply to that. She took a step back, then another. “How dare you?”

“Well, it’s that, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “No!”

“Oh, and what is it, oh mighty Queen?”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she swallowed them down. “Don’t you see? It’s because my mother has Alzheimer’s disease and she might not even remember that she’s getting married tomorrow! Because she might wake up tomorrow and look your uncle in the eye and not even remember who he is. I love her, and I don’t want her to get hurt, but he will get hurt too. Hell!” she threw her hands in the air. “She forgot I had a restraining order on Alberto yesterday and put Paula in danger, what next?”

"I'm sorry," Mónica admitted weakly. "And you didn't—." 

"No," she said in a hushed tone. "Listen, I can understand my ex husband calling me a whore—." 

"When?" 

Raquel sighed. "Just a few minutes ago. He called me and called me a whore and said he was going to— it doesn't matter," she waved her hand, the memory of the conversation clogging her throat and making it impossible for her to breathe. "The thing is, that even if I had fucked the priest, and I didn't," she rushed to explain, "it still wouldn't be my fault."

"How—." 

"He's a grown man, Daniel," she hissed, "and I am not a fucking Veela seducing men and forcing them to do things they wouldn't normally do. Even if he had fucked me, and felt regret about it and therefore abandoned this wedding, it would be on  _ him,  _ on his cowardice and his inability to resist my charm. But I didn't fuck him and whatever else I might have done doesn't mean I am at fault for his choices."

A pause, during which she swallowed thickly, glancing from one apologetic face to another. 

"They're his choices. His." 

Seeing that no one was replying, Raquel grabbed Paula by the hand firmly and moved towards the exit. “We’re going back home, love,” she announced. Then, turning back to the rest, she muttered, “I hope for all of you, and me, that he doesn’t actually abandon his duties. Now, if you’ll forgive me,” she chuckled airily, “I have a date tonight. With Alicia Sierra.”

_ Time to call her and tell her about it. _

* * *

With Paula already asleep and the short hand of the clock pointing at the ten, Raquel stood before the entrance, expecting Alicia Sierra. She was not wearing any clothes except a stupid black coat and lingerie, which made no sense, given that it was full blown July, but she presumed the ginger woman would find it hot.

It was a lucky thing that Laura had, as promised, decided to stay either at Mónica and Daniel’s – and Raquel had a high feeling those two wouldn’t be sleeping together tonight – or at Julia’s, or, well, wherever she wished. Otherwise she’d be seeing Raquel’s smoky eye make-up, her black high heels and the red flush on her cheeks.

It was an embarrassing enough scene that she hoped, with all her being, that Paula wouldn’t wake up.

_ You know that feeling, _ Raquel thought, breathing heavily in anticipation,  _ when the hot misogynist who claims not to be a misogynist is turning up at your house after two weeks of begging to get into your pants, to give you, possibly, the nine orgasms your step-cousin promised, just to get your head out of the fact that the only person you actually want to see in the world right now is a priest that you... _

The doorbell rang and she gasped, adrenaline high.

_ So,  _ she muttered to herself as she began opening the door,  _ you cover yourself up in coconut oil and pray to God that she doesn’t mind an unshaved—. _

“Hi,” said Sergio, looking down at her even when standing a step below. He had a slight bruise on his nose, but it appeared that Daniel’s idea of throwing a punch was overrated. Raquel could only gape, eyes wide and mind suddenly blank. “Sorry, I was given your address by Silene.” He chuckled but when his eyes travelled south and noticed her coat, he faltered. “Are you on your way out?”

Raquel blinked a few times before regaining her ability to speak, her voice small, “No, I—I just got in, actually.”  _ Fuck _ , she added to herself,  _ I only have lingerie under this coat. _

Sergio furrowed his brows. “Really?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “May I come in?”

“Yeah,” she stepped back to allow him inside, “sure, come in.”

With her heart in her throat and her mind running towards all the different possibilities, Raquel closed the door behind him and winced inaudibly. It appeared, however, that the nervousness didn’t belong just to her: by the way Sergio was brushing his hair and patting his lap as he paced all the way to her small living room, he was just as nervous.

“Lovely house,” he said softly, waving at the small couch facing the TV on which she’d received the great news of Alberto’s arrest and at the other, nearly opposite couch which offered a perfect spot for serious conversations.

“Thank you,” she breathed and as he kept pacing, she offered, “Water?”

“No, thank you,” he sighed, “I’d like to… speak clearly, right now.”

“Sure,” she laughed.

“I just—I came here to tell you that I will celebrate the wedding, after all.” Raquel nodded approvingly. “I just couldn’t let Mariví and Agustín down like that, you see. And apparently, me leaving does leave bruises,” he motioned at his nose with a chuckle. “And no one wants to wear my outfit, either.”

Raquel nodded, pensive. “It’s good that you’re doing this, for them.”

“Yeah, they’re good people and—I’m sorry,” he interrupted himself, his eyes once again traveling south to the slightly exposed skin of her chest, “aren’t you going to remove your coat?”

“Oh,” she grimaced. “No, no, I’m feeling quite chilly, actually.” A pause. “Do you want to sit?”

“No, no, I’m going to be quick, really.” The intensity of his gaze locking with hers made her shift her feet uncomfortably. “I’ve sacrificed a lot, for this life. Well, not as much as many others, but I’ve given up many things.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It was my choice, but… I’ve given up so much, to be here, to do what I do, and then you—.”

The doorbell rang again, and this time Raquel was sure who was on the other end. She turned back to the corridor, but her feet remained fixed to the ground, pointed towards the priest as though he were the North pole and she were the small magnet trying to stabilize against him.

When it kept ringing, Sergio frowned. “Do you want to get that?”

“No, no,” she laughed airily, “no, I don’t really like opening the door to strangers.”

Alicia’s killed her lie on the spot. “I’m finally here, baby!”

Raquel couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, eyeing the priest apologetically while he himself appeared torn. “Listen, Raquel, if you have someone you need to see, or, or whatever, I can just—.”

“No!” she sat down on the couch and motioned at him to sit down as well, which this time he didn’t resist. “Honestly, I don’t have anything to do. Just let her be. Tell me what you wanted to say.”

“Right,” he heaved a sigh, crossing her hands in lieu of prayer. The mournful look on his face gave him a nearly deadly appearance. “I’ve told you that my brother is dying. He has few months to live because of this incurable disease, called—.”

The doorbell rang again, this time more insistently.

Unwillingly, Raquel stood up, noticing the slight disappointment in Sergio's eyes and shoving it down. "Sorry, I'll just— I'll get that, quickly." With a groan, she crossed the corridor and opened the door to Alicia's perfectly made up face and adjusted hair.

"Hello, m'lady," said the ginger woman, long, manicured fingers caressing Raquel's befuddled face. "Let me in?"

The shorter woman's eyebrows shot up. "Sorry, no! You can't come in!"

Alicia arched a cocky eyebrow. Both of her hands were now on Raquel's chest, working their way down to opening the buttons. "You want to do it on the porch? Kinky, and I love it."

"No!" Raquel pushed her hands away and straightened her porch. "I'm sorry, but—my priest is here and I can't do it right now."

"Your priest?" Sierra frowned, trying to look inside to find the priest but to no avail. "Is he okay?"

"No, I hope he's having an emotional crisis, actually," Raquel said, her voice as serious as she could, and she knew her words weren't entirely detached from the truth if the way Sergio paced was any indication.

"Should I come later, then?"

Raquel wavered before replying that, "No, no, I need to sort of, uh, guide him right now. I don't know how long it'll take me, but I wouldn't count on it being quick."

Alicia's frown deepened as she appeared to hear a double entendre where Raquel only hoped there was one. "But we were going to have sex."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"I'm really good at sex."

"I know."

"I'm _ really _ good at it," she insisted.

Raquel groaned. "I know!"

"Like," she said firmly, hands again traveling to Raquel's chest,  _ "really  _ good at it."

The shorter woman slapped them away again and took an angry step back. "Oh, for fuck's sake, I know! Julia's told me how good you are, and I know."

"Clearly," Alicia pouted, albeit it didn't reach her eyes, which were still as gelid as always, "if I were  _ that _ good, you'd ditch that priest for me right now and we'd be making your bed sing."

Raquel winced inwardly at the proposition and sighed. "I promise you, you're the best sex anyone's ever had."

"Really?"

"Yes," she nodded hurriedly, "really! For fuck's sake, you've made Julia come nine times!"

Pausing briefly, the lawyer gaped. "Nine times?" 

"Yes, nine times!"

She traced Raquel's jaw with the back of her hand. "Nine times," she repeated, her voice low and soft. "She's an angel, really. Wow. I should go—."

"Yes! To her! Go to her!"

Alicia eyed behind herself almost uncertainly. "I'll go, then?"

Raquel bobbed her head excitedly. "Go! She's a lucky woman!" Before she could, however, leave, Raquel was reminded of the original reason she'd wanted to call her and called out, "Thank you!"

Alicia glanced at her with pursed lips. "What for?"

"For helping me out with Alberto." The lawyer still appeared not to understand. "For getting him arrested?" Raquel furrowed her own brows back, a crease severing one of her eyebrows from the other. "Nothing, then!" she hurried to say, confused. "Have a great night!"

Alicia chuckled and winked knowingly. "Yeah, you, too, with your priest!"

Still confused, Raquel closed the door behind herself and, unbeknownst to her, Sergio had stood up along with her, so when she entered the living room, she ended up colliding exactly with him.

She took a step back as though she'd been scorched, eyes wide.

"I won't ask," he laughed, then shook his head. "Nine times?" 

Raquel waved him away. "I'm not sure it's true, honestly."

"Would've been amazing sex for you," the priest admitted, a hint of regret in his voice. 

"Oh, I was only gonna fuck her to thank her for…" she trailed off, seeing that he instantly understood. She frowned. "But it seems she has no fucking clue."

A brief moment of silence stretched between them, before the priest spoke up again. "I did it," he said, voice as low as a growl.

Raquel tilted her head up to him in confusion. "What?"

"I got him arrested," he elaborated. "I made Ánibal find me all possible footage and deleted files of Alberto's corruption and whatnot and within a brief amount of time, we managed to have enough material to anonymously send to the rightful authorities to lock him up, hopefully for good."

Raquel could do nothing but stare, a thank you swallowed down in her throat. Her feet moved once again towards him, the magnet drawn to its pole, but, seeing her close the distance, he held out his hands and shook his head firmly.

"No, Raquel," he whispered, pain clear. "I can't be physical with you."

She laughed, feeling both light headed and heavy hearted. "What? We can't even wrestle?" Seeing his bashful smile, Raquel added in a small, hurt voice, "You can't tell me you've fucking saved me and not expect me to want to kiss you." Before he could argue, she chuckled, "And Silene made me research it: priests do have sex. Many of them do, actually, and they don't burst into flames or anything!"

Sergio paused, an airy chuckle bubbling out of throat. "Raquel," he muttered lowly, "I can't have sex with you, because I will fall in love with you." She blinked, taken aback by the honesty. "And if I fall in love you, I may not burst into flames, but my life will be fucked."

She kept her mouth shut, watching him curiously, fearing even a fly buzzing might burst his bubble.

"You know, my brother has so little to live and with Martín gone, and with his suicidal tendencies, who knows how much I have left with him?" he shook his head. "And there's Ágata, who  _ relies _ on me. I can't—."

"I understand."

"So, you see, I can't have sex with you," he growled, while his gaze laid on hers, heavy and rich with unsaid words.

_ Oh, my God, _ Raquel thought, shivering beneath the strength of his gaze,  _ we're going to have sex. _

"I'm supposed to love only one thing—"

_ Oh, my God, we're going to have sex. _

"Can you _ stop _ doing that?" he whined loudly, throwing his hands up in the air. She widened her eyes, but kept her stance firm, not daring to move. "You know, you say you want to be told what to do and what to wear, but I think your desires are well writ in your eyes. If you actually wanted to be told what to do, you'd be wearing one of these," he motioned at his doggy collar.

"Women can't actually—."

"I know!" he groaned, breathing in deeply. "Fuck, Raquel." Dark, heavy-lidded eyes stared right at her, unblinking as he paused. Lowly, he hummed, nodding as though he'd come to a conclusion long awaited and long worked for. "We're going to have sex, aren't we?"

"Yeah," she nodded, anticipation once again building up in her throat and down below.

"How do you do this to me, Raquel?" he said in a low whisper, his mouth so much closer to hers than she'd thought as he took a firm step towards her. "How do you make me desire you so?"

A big hand brushed her cheek tentatively, tasting the waters and she couldn't help but lean into it, nuzzling at it like a begging cat. Slowly, his hand dropped to her chest, a lone finger teasing at the lapels while his other hand oh-so slowly worked on the buttons, baring her inch by inch. 

"Whoa!" A surprised gasp escaped his mouth at the sight of her black lingerie. 

She ducked her head in embarrassment, laughing. "Sorry! I had a—." 

"No, no, no," he pressed a finger to her mouth, chisting at her, and brought her chin up to stare right into her eyes before his gaze fell to her lips, and lower. "I like this, you're absolutely  _ gorgeous _ ," he hissed, head ducked while his hands caressed her through the thin fabric. "I really like—."

The compliments were starting to make her self-conscious, so she did the first thing that came to mind: she surged upwards and captured his already parted lips with hers, deepening the kiss as soon as he panted into her mouth. They switched from one side to another as though in a tantalizingly slow dance, searching for a surface to lay against while her hands grabbed at the nape of his neck to draw him nearer.

Desperate to feel more and more, she removed his doggy collar and threw it away. Nimble fingers tried to open at the buttons, while he worked her coat off her, exposing her naked skin.

He broke off the kiss with eyes blown wide, his lips a crimson mess of smudged lipstick and plump from kissing. His hands roamed over the exposed skin, mesmerized. "Fuck," he panted. 

"Don't—," she tried capturing him into another kiss, but he interrupted it all too quickly to stare at her chest. 

"I've never seen anyone as beautiful." The ghost of his thumb flickered across her covered breast, stroking a slow rhythm. He then squeezed lightly, as if testing the water, checking what she liked most until he squeezed her left nipple harshly and drew a breathy moan, then another, then another, a fire licking its way down her body and between her legs. "God, you're—."

"Shut up," Raquel moaned against his lips, teasing them with the tip of her tongue before kissing him again. Unwilling to let him interrupt it all again, she stroked his member through the fabric of his dress and pants until he parted his lips and took the hint to shove his tongue into her mouth. 

Tilting her head to bring him nearer, she hummed approvingly and, with the help of his hand squeezing at her arse, she jumped and wrapped her legs around his hips.

Unable to break out of their kissing bubble, wrapped in each other's beings,  _ souls,  _ as much as bodies, they set an unsteady rhythm of her leading him towards her room with the grinding of her hips and him hitting every possible surface. 

As they reached the door, him struggling with the handle with a suppressed laugh, she parted their lips and let her head fall to side with a hum. Like a sailor, hungry for food he'd had no access to, the door forgotten for what was nearer, he instantly started first peppering her neck with kisses, then went lower and his mouth parted, his warm tongue tracing circles and drawing suppressed moans out of her mouth. 

Biting her lower lip, she remembered Paula was just in the other room, asleep and her eyes shot wide open, instantly coming into contact with the glaring the cross her mother had forced upon the wall facing her room and she dared it to fall. 

To interrupt this, to kill her desires again. 

It appeared God had no ill intentions this time. 

Resolute not to be stopped, she helped him open the door and kicked it closed behind them as soon as they were inside, then pushed him against it and finally removed his dress, leaving him bare-chested. Only black pants on. 

A constellation of freckles covered his chest and shoulder and she promised herself to inspect it all later, with her mouth and her tongue and her fingers. 

Everything. 

First, however, she lowered herself to a position of prayer, hands on his belt and breathed in deeply as his own breath shortened in kind. 

Not that this was for anyone else to know. 

This was between the two of them, and God. 

  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [kyrie by isobel waller-bridge starts playing] 
> 
> hello! i'm a bit late cause i was less inspired for this chapter but i hope i didn't disappoint! some of the plot points that may seem incomplete will be brought back in ch6, which will be the last!  
> at last!  
> i haven't started writing yet and it will surely take me even longer to update, i'm sorry, but i hope i at least won't disappoint then either.
> 
> agn


	6. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Agustín and Mariví's wedding day and Raquel and Father Sergio deal with the aftermath of having had sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! sorry for the dreadful wait i've put you through. i hope you enjoy this though! and if you do, please comment after you're done reading <3

* * *

Darkness still loomed outside the window, quiet and peaceful – as it can ever be at such early hours of the day – when Raquel's eyes cracked open. A gentle breeze caressed her out of her sleepy state and, if her phone was any indication, she'd only slept about three hours, but she couldn't really complain. Not when the reason of the little sleep she'd gotten lay so peacefully next to her, eyes closed and his breath even. 

In the dim light of the moon, there were no shadows under his eyes or creases on his forehead. The lack of glasses was almost funny, it made him appear both younger and less composed. 

With a lopsided grin, the light of which reached her eyes and crinkled the skin underneath, Raquel didn't resist the urge to stroke all those features. A tentative finger traced over the bridge of his nose and, with a ghostly touch, caressed his lips, then drew circles over his cheekbones and grazed his beard with the tips of her fingernails to pry him out of his sleep, until he was staring at her, eyes hooded.

"Sorry," she whispered without any trace of regret, leaning over to place a soft kiss on the lips she'd just admired. "My daughter wakes up in an hour and—." 

He shushed her, placing a finger on her lips. "You don't have to explain," he said, a warm smile gracing his lips and stretching all the way to his small eyes. He propped himself on his forearm and stroked her face so gently she almost succumbed into his touch and forgot about everything.

Everything.

Everything they’d done, they’d possibly do again. She couldn’t help but watch him in astonishment, eyes wide and brimming with excitement.

"I can't believe that you…" she trailed off, laughing in embarrassment, a hand traveling to his chest as if to convey her message not with words but with actions. 

"That I?" 

She laughed even more, unable to speak her mind when his eyes bore into her the way they did, blind to everything – for lack of glasses – and yet so warm. "I just—." 

"Go on," he nudged her hand with his chin, "say it." 

Raquel breathed in deeply, scratching at his chest briefly before focusing her deep gaze on his. "I just can't believe that you did this. That you… had sex with me and all." 

Sergio hummed, nodding pensively. A warm hand cupped at her cheek and brought her lips to his into a searing kiss. "Only with you, Raquel. I could only ever do this with you." 

She shook her head against his palm, laughing. "Oh, you've already won me over, there's no need to exaggerate now." 

"Raquel," he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, his gaze lingering on her parted, amused lips, "you make me feel so alive. Everytime I'm with you, I want to live and I don't think I've ever felt like living. I think I’ve always felt like I didn’t even deserve to live, after my childhood, and with you... Well, frankly, I've never felt more alive than tonight." 

"Well," she chuckled, her mind going back to a series of flashes of his mouth and hands exploring her skin in a research so pleasant, she was beginning to doubt his inexperience. "I'm sure anyone would feel alive after all that sex, with anyone."

Sergio shook his head. "Only with you." 

"Please," she laughed again, "you'll soon find another, even better woman." 

"Never," he whispered. When she still appeared unconvinced, he kissed her mouth again, switching their positions so that she was lying on her back and he above her. An anticipatory giggle escaped her lips before he lowered his face to hers. "Raquel," he kissed her cheek, "you are," he lingered on her jaw eliciting a soft moan when his tongue flicked over the skin, "the only," a little back, to her lobe, "woman," he ducked so he could nibble at her neck, "for me." 

"Hm," she grinned, "a man, then?" 

Sergio laughed, rolling his eyes. “Only you,” he repeated, determined to distract her from her distressing, albeit innocent, thoughts. When she opened her mouth to argue, he captured it into a messy and long kiss while his left hand traveled down to her chest and flicked at her nipples, making her moan breathily into his mouth, her hips arching up to meet his. He drew steady circles, at first soft and plight, then harsher when her teeth sunk into his lips, begging.

Just as her own hands, distressed and yearning, stroked him lower and lower, he parted from her lips and grabbed both of her wrists above her head with only one hand. “No, no,” he muttered with a grin, “we should be waking up, shouldn’t we?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she grunted against his lips, kissing him roughly, mouth parted and tongue sliding inside to elicit a groan from his part while her hips humped upwards. When he let go of her hands, she grabbed his face with both her palms and heaved a sigh. “You’ve already made me, ah,” she gasped when he stroked her abdomen with a cocky smile.  _ “Fuck.” _

“I’ve made you what?” he asked innocently, his long fingers nudging at her legs, playful.

“Horny,” she panted, “so fucking horny,” she spread her legs for him, whimpering at his gentle touch. He hummed, appreciation clear, then feigned lack of interest by removing his hand. “No!” she moaned, grabbing his hand and placing it back between her legs on her already wet core. She was far too deep into this to part. “You can’t stop now, Father.”

Despite complying to her request, stroking her while laying wet and lazy kisses down from her lips to her spread legs, hovering above his most desired place,  _ “No,” _ he said. “Don’t do that,” he kissed the soft skin between her thighs, “don’t call me that.”

Raquel blinked repeatedly, her mind already a haze. “What?”

“Please, Raquel,” Sergio fixed his gaze with hers, serious eyes staring into her confused ones. “Don’t call me Father.”

A smile crinkled beneath her eyes and stretched on her lips, “Would you prefer daddy, then?”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. When she feigned ignorance, eyes dazed and half-closed from the interrupted pleasure, he leisurely lowered himself again, placing a soft kiss first on one leg, then the other. The tip of his tongue flicked over her center but didn’t press and, as she tried closing her eyes, forgetting his words altogether, he whispered, his voice vibrating her pulsing core, “Call me Sergio.”

Then, without any preamble, he flatly licked all the way from her center to her pulsing nub and, as her breathing became erratic, he sucked.

“Do it, Raquel,” he growled, sucking harshly, his lips parting with a loud smack when he drew away. A hand smacked lightly at her abdomen to draw her attention. “Call me Sergio.”

With a cocky smile despite the growing anticipation between her legs, Raquel asked, “Or what?”

He teased her nub gently, the pleasure so feather-light and yet growing. “I’ll tease you,” he licked again, only a ghost of what he could properly do, “and tease you again,” his fingers replaced his lips to gently stroke, “and tease you, and tease you, until you’ll be begging me,” he gave her a firmer touch before retreating again, “and I won’t make you come.”

“Oh, you make a great argument,” she teased, groaning at the lack of release. “but maybe I need more convincing.”

Sergio arched his eyebrows, but complied, this time firmer in his touch. A finger poked at her wet center, pumping inside roughly while his mouth worked a slow rhythm around her clit, alternating between sucking and licking. As her core stretched, he added another finger, pumping so deep and fast she was sure she’d die a  _ small death  _ soon. Pleasure built fast and heavy, riding up and up and up until she was squirming, a tickling and pulsating feeling between her legs. However, as she was about to reach her peak, her breath caught in her throat and her moans barely suppressed, his hand stilled and his mouth parted at a brief distance of her growing need.

“Beg,” he growled.

She had no self-restraint, her hips twitching in search for release, hoping to stimulate the fingers still inside. “Please,” she begged, “please.”

He hummed, allowing her two deep, filling pumps. “Please, what?”

“Fuck,” she sighed, recognizing the tone, “please, _ Sergio, _ please fuck me.”

Sergio couldn’t help but comply to such a gentle request. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Good morning!” said an aunt, or a cousin, or perhaps a family friend. And to that added up a, “Good day”” from a sleazy cousin, or a co-worker, or perhaps an annoying old relative, whose words mingled with a slurred, “Hullo,” enunciated by an equally annoying acquaintance, or family member, or former thief.

Under the scorching morning sun, every person Raquel and Laura were forced to greet blurred together. And they hadn’t even begun drinking. Unlike Silene and Julia who were enjoying margaritas while  _ they  _ accepted gifts.

“Some people truly have it better in life,” Laura said, her mournful gaze stern, focused only on the drink, a look of longing settling in her eyes as if she could easily picture herself in Silene’s place instead of standing still like a pole greeting relatives or acquaintances with marked enthusiasm.

“Ah,” Raquel smiled for she, despite the weather which drove her to mark her heat with the presence of dark pools beneath her armpits, couldn’t shake off the easy feeling in her heart, “I’m of the idea that greeting people isn’t—.”

An unwelcome hand touched and squeezed her ass, the intrusiveness matching the face of none other but, “Tamayo!” whom she greeted with a forced smile, her eyes skating off to the distance to stare at no one in particular. _ Creepy, short man with a balding spot. One of my former colleagues and a known pervert and creep. He’s got some problems,  _ she arched eyebrows at the leer he was sending at her sister,  _ probably clinical, but nobody talks about it.  _ “Hello! How are you?”

His hand on her ass squeezed again before he dropped it and grinned. “G’morning, my dear ladies. I’m doing great, how are you?”

By the look on Laura’s face it was clear she was ready to bite, and Raquel’s good mood was not yet on a thin enough ice to break it, so she coughed and laughed. “My mother is getting married, sir,”  _ sir! he used to be my boss but I hate calling him sir!  _ “I am doing strikingly well!”

“Jolly good, indeed!” Laura confirmed with wide, accusing eyes.

_ She’s telling me to tell him to fuck off, _ Raquel informed,  _ if only I knew how. _

Tamayo nodded. Given that he was not making a move, Raquel felt like he had some questions, and she counted on her fingers, hidden behind her back, the time before he’d say anything. “Tell me, ladies,”  _ Ditto,  _ “is lunch on the house?”

Laura arched her eyebrows. “It was on the invite that,  _ yes _ , lunch is on the house.”

The stout man didn’t catch the biting tone and instead hummed to himself appreciatively. Without, however, taking a step past them, a group of guests piling up behind him like cars in traffic with him as a small but very intrusive streetlight that won’t turn green even if you pray, he stood.

“And dinner?”

Laura’s scoff was Raquel’s cue to be the nicer sister, despite wishing herself to punch him in the face, so she said, “There’ll be a buffet and some dessert but not specific dinner. The party will continue till at least ten in the evening. Guests are, however, as indicated on the invite, allowed to leave at any given time after the ceremony.” When he opened his mouth to ask some more, she fished out an invite out of her pocket and forced it into his hand. “There, sir, all is written here. Just look at this and you’ll find whatever you wish for.”

He finally understood himself beat and nodded nearly sadly, and left.

Right before the arrival of the next guest standing in line, Laura murmured, “And tell me, Raquel, why can’t the Ramos sisters do this instead of us? They’d find it invigorating to speak to such specimens, as we do, wouldn’t they?”

Raquel laughed heartily between a greeting or two. “I think you’ll find them more invigorated by the drinks. But,” she sighed, “we are our mother’s daughters, not some simple nieces. We’re the  _ daughters of the bride _ . Of course we’re the greeting committee. Much as we hate it.”

Laura groaned. “And hate it we do. Or I do, at least. You seem unlikely perky this morning.”

A bashful blush spread across Raquel’s cheeks. “I’m not sure what makes you think that. I’m simply overjoyed for my mother’s happiness at this special occasion.”

“Our mother!” Laura exclaimed rather loudly, attracting the attention of a few guests and their closest relative on the groom’s side as well. In a hushed tone, she added, “Our  _ mother _ had a breakdown this morning because she couldn’t find her veil after  _ specifically _ claiming she doesn’t want one. And when she finally remembered that, she spent half an hour apologizing for having forgotten.”

Raquel furrowed her brows. “I don’t recall that.”

“You weren’t here, yet. I stayed the night with her yesterday, though, and this is what I got.” Laura pursed her lips and stared off into the distance briefly before sparking up again, a sight having caught her eye enough to perk her up. She turned to Raquel with an easy-going smile. “The priest’s looking good, isn’t he?”

Raquel chuckled. 

She knew her sister only meant to tease, and rather innocently, but there was truth in her teasing: Sergio wasn’t wearing his special robes yet but even in the black tunic and the white doggy collar there was an air of power and dominance and assuredness about him that rarely as much as now wafted off him. He was composed, tall, and his glasses appeared to have been super-glued to his nose for he never once pushed them up. 

Raquel’s breath caught in her throat at the memory of his sparkling eyes and naked body that had been bared before her just a few hours ago.

_ God, I can’t wait to fuck him again, and again, and again. _

“He could use a trim to his hair,” she said to her sister with a playful grin after a moment.

Laura slapped her arm. “You’re never satisfied, miss Perfect, are you?”

“I’m not sure I am supposed to be satisfied by a  _ priest,  _ Laura, am I?”

Her sister rolled her eyes. Just as she was about to tease her some more, however, Mariví and Agustín materialized themselves on their respective sides, matching grins on their faces and matching clothes, too, from what it appeared: he wore a custard colored button shirt and a yellow-green suit and trousers which matched her mother’s custard colored dress and a yellow-green belt and blouse.

The colors hurt Raquel’s eyes and unfortunately, apart from herself and Silene, every other bridesmaid and best man — bridesmaids and best men only in name as there wasn't any particular activity given to them along with the role — was following the ugly dress-code.

“Always the rebel,” Agustín laughed nodding at her red dress. “You know, Raquel,” he said in a tone that almost sounded conspiratory, “you always say you dislike my niece so much,”  _ Untrue, I adore Silene,  _ “but you have so much in common.”

The younger woman  _ was  _ wearing a gorgeous purple shirt with a matching pink skirt so short it barely covered her arse. Raquel appreciated the daring energy it gave off.

“Perhaps that is what truly drives us away from each other eventually,” she said. “But!” she pointed at the tiny custard colored flowers that she’d chosen specifically to tease the custard rule on her dress, “I do have custard  _ and _ ,” she waved at her feet upon which she wore yellow-green shoes, “yellow-green. I did abide by the rules!”

Mariví couldn’t help the awestruck smile. “My daughter!” she cheered. “Always so smart!” 

“I’m your daughter, too,” Laura pointed out with a pout, “you know?”

Their mother tilted her head affectionately. “Ah, dear,” she whispered, squeezing Laura’s tense cheek, “but your dutifulness is amazing, too!”

“Oh, yeah,” Agustín nodded, “very appreciated.”

_ I sense mockery in both their tones, _ Raquel mused,  _ but that is inevitable with Laura. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who found no reason to tease her, to be honest. _

Before Laura could scorn at their words, Agustín patted her shoulder cheerfully. “Now, girls, don’t let some stupid words shuffle your feathers—.”

_ “Ruffle.” _

“Oh, it’s—ruffle? Is it?” the older man frowned, pensive. “Huh.” After a brief pause he seemed to come to the conclusion that it mattered little what he’d been trying to say and shook his head. “Come, come, now, your mother and I actually wanted you to meet some new people.”

_ New people? _

“New people?” Laura frowned. “But we’ve already greeted everyone, or nearly everyone, I’m sure there’s no need for introdu—.”

“Oh, hush, now,” Mariví scolded her. “There’s some people we want you to meet and that’s all!”

“But—.”

“Has anyone seen Dani and Mónica?” Silene’s unlikely somber voice intruded. “Daniel has the fucking rings which, I realize, was not the smartest move in my plan but he’s supposed to fucking bring them, you know?”

“Have you tried calling them?”

Despite Laura’s innocent enough question, Silene bristled. “Have I tried  _ calling  _ them?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes at the younger Murillo sister angrily. “It’s the first thing people  _ do,  _ you know? They call and they look around. All of which I did, of course, because I am not stupid!”

_ Oh, for fuck’s sake, _ Raquel thought, then turned to Silene. “She asked a genuine question. But no, none of us have seen them. At least not the two of us.”

“Are you sure?”

It was Raquel’s turn to bristle, though with definitely less strength. “Silene, we’re the greeting committee. No one passes through without greeting us.”  _ That’s a lie. I’ve seen some people doing a whole arch around to us to avoid talking to us, but Silene doesn’t need to know that, nor will she.  _ “Call them again, or ask the priest. I bet he has psychic abilities.”

“The priest!” Silene’s eyes sparked up with excitement before her smile turned teasing and she smirked at Raquel. “Say, did you manage to—ow!” The question was swallowed down by Raquel’s kick to her leg. “Yes, I’ll ask the priest.”

As she walked off, Raquel couldn’t help but follow her with her eyes in hopes of her gaze meeting with Sergio’s. It didn’t take long before Silene caught up with the priest, indeed, and he didn’t appear at all shocked, but from afar Raquel could tell he had no idea where the married couple and the baby were.

He genuinely looked good. Raquel couldn’t help but feel pride for being, in some way, the reason for his bravado. And, as he sensed her heavy stare on him and smiled at her warmly, faltering a little, Raquel couldn’t help but feel proud for being able to take down his bravado as easily, too.

It was a powerful thing to own: the power to knock down a priest.

“Hey!” Mariví’s hand waved before her face and brought her down from her thoughts. “Come, now. There’s  _ people _ to meet!”

…

  
  


“So, girls, this is Mario Suárez,” said Mariví, her hand waving at a tall guy in his mid-30s, not bearded –  _ although I doubt a beard would cause him any harm _ – wearing a black tuxedo that properly clung to his muscular physique. “He works with the police, Raquel! He’s one of the GEOs, but I don’t think you’ve ever met him, have you?” Before Raquel could say that she indeed hadn’t, her mother cut her off, “She hasn’t, I know she hasn’t.”

“Right.”

“He’s  _ single,” _ the elderly woman winked with intended secrecy. The man flushed red and averted his gaze.

_ A little shy. I don’t mind that in a man, _ Raquel admitted.  _ But I think Laura likes him more by the looks of it. _

Indeed, Laura was crumbling her dress within her fists and biting her lower lip as she watched the man whose height was twice her own. But there seemed to be some sort of agreement between them, as though they could easily fall into bed together at the end of the night.

Raquel nodded apprehensively.

“And he’s a distant cousin of mine,” Agustín added after a brief pause, ruining the entire mood. “Very distant, though, I promise.”

Embarrassed as they all were, Mariví moved on to the next victim, a young, awkward boy with a large mole on his face whose face was so tense he seemed to need the loo any second now. “This is—.”

“Miguel Hernández Talanilla of Totana Murcia,” he said in one breath, clenching his fists so tight Raquel feared they might burst. “I’m an engineer and a technician, and I can work well with computers, I hope. I mean, I can work with them, but I hope I can do it well. And I’m actually more an intern, still. People barely hire me for more, yet. I’m going to be helping with setting up the music. Well, helping is a strong word. I am only overlooking, and rather poorly, if you ask me. I need manuals with me and all! But I’m only twenty-four, so I am yet to learn, of course. I’m a friend of Ánibal, actually. Sort of.”

_ That sums it up. _

The next victim was Ágata who, for some reason, seemed to be Mariví’s perfect prey for she had barely met her and was, according to Mariví’s very excited words, “A  _ lesbian!” _ which wasn’t even true, as Ágata also liked men, but it seemed too hard for Mariví to process.

“And this is,” she waved her hand blindly with a wide smile but, where earlier stood a short black-haired woman, now there was an empty space which opened up to the sight of an approaching Daniel with Cincinnati dragged by the hand. “Daniel?”

“Daniel?!” Silene instantly appeared by his side, shaking him firmly by the shoulders and promptly sending the rest of the unwanted party away. “Where’s Mónica?”

The man blinked repeatedly, rather shaken, either by her rude question or by what it entailed. He gaped dumbly. “Uh, Mó— who—Mónica?”

“Yes!” Raquel confirmed, eyes wide.

“You idiot, of course I mean Mónica!”

“Now, there’s no—.”

Daniel was slow to catch up, freeing himself from Silene’s grasp and helping Cincinnati into his arms. “She left,” he finally said, kissing the boy on the top of his head as the boy nodded affirmative.

“She left?”

Agustín furrowed his thick brows. “Where could she have left?”

Daniel gaped for a few seconds before explaining, “For work. She, uh, left for… and now she can’t be here, only for to… and anyway,” he shook his head, “it’s for a business thing.”

“A  _ business _ thing?” Mariví asked simultaneously with Silene who, on her hand, asked, “Isn’t she a lawyer?”

_ Yup, she’s a lawyer, I recall well. _

“What?” Daniel frowned, chuckling emptily. “No, no, she’s not a lawyer.”

_ Uh, yes she is. _

“Honey,” Silene insisted, “she’s a proper barrister. Isn’t that how she introduced Alicia to Julia and I? Cause they  _ worked _ together?”

_ Exactly. _

Daniel nodded. “Yes, they worked together, but she went to  _ business _ school. She gave up on it when she needed money and that’s why she worked for that prick Román at his store, but after she gave birth to Cinci she went back, don’t you remember?”  _ Oh, I thought she went back to law school, but… well. _ “She works  _ with  _ lawyers at her firm, but she isn’t herself a lawyer, no! And she’s probably working with lawyers right now, for whatever case, but trust me, she’s not one.”

Silene didn’t seem convinced. “But—.”

“Listen,” he sighed, “I know my wife, alright?” The exasperation in his voice made everyone start and they accepted his words. “Thank you.”

“Alright,” Silene nodded. “Alright, I believe you, coz. Now, the mention of Alicia actually reminds me… but, anyway, give me the rings, Dani, and I’ll steal Raquel for a second.”

“Me?”

“Rings?”

The younger woman addressed the latter only, frowning at her cousin. “Yes, rings. I gave them to you, don’t you remember?”

Daniel’s eyes widened as realization sunk in. “Shit, fuck. I left them at home! I’ll be right back!” Soon as he began running, however, he came back and forced Cincinnati into the closest person’s – Laura’s – arms and turned back around, cursing.

Silene rolled her eyes. “Julia! Go with him! I’ll send you a photo of what the rings look like, too, just in case.”

The sister did as asked, trailing after her cousin with a sour look as, it appeared, her drink had to be left on the counter.

With that solved, or sort of, and with Agustín and Mariví getting distracted by their other guests for the time being, Silene grabbed Raquel’s shoulders and sighed. “Walk with me in the garden.”

Garden was neither a strong nor exactly right word to describe the alley of bushes and flowers that spread in the area they had rented for the wedding. It was more of a labyrinth with tall trees, bushes and dahlias someone had properly grown to confuse everyone and to lead into an actual garden inside.

Raquel marveled at it for a while, stroking the loose flowers and leaves that the gardener had forgotten to trim, before she turned to Silene with a scowl. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Not yet,” the younger woman murmured, squeezing the arm that she’d decided to hook with Raquel. “God, I feel pretentious walking like this.”

Raquel chuckled, pursing her lips to force a tight, pretentious voice out. “Anyone would," she admitted in the high voice. "We look like two matrons from the 19 th century strolling about a labyrinth garden while a lord oversees us from his tall window whilst he pretends to write a letter to his brother whom he has invited to stay for a fortnight. But his eye! it is always caught by our graceful figures! He cannot resist us, albeit hard he might try.”

“Fuck,” Silene laughed. “Never speak like that again, it’s an order!”

“Maybe if you promise to tell me why the fuck we’re walking here.”

“Enjoying the fresh air?” Raquel offered nothing more but a glare. “Let’s reach the inside garden first. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll enjoy it more if I’ll know what the fuck is going on,” she assured. “You mentioned Alicia, and her name never brings about any good, so I need to know. Or I’m leaving right now and just calling her myself, do you like that?”

Silene heaved a deep, exaggerated sigh, her eyes glaring daggers at Raquel. “Alright. But answer me one question first.”

“Go on.”

“Did you finally fuck the priest?”

Raquel feigned ignorance. “The priest? Come on. I’m not some Goddess divine. We’ve already argued about this yesterday, do you really want to bring it up again?”

“Hey!” the younger woman raised her hands defensively. “He’s here now, he hasn’t ruined the wedding, so I’m not complaining anymore. But he looks like he hasn’t slept a wink tonight.”

“Really?” That didn’t exactly match the beautiful image she’d made up in her mind of what Sergio looked like today. “I thought he looked surprisingly better than usual, actually.”

“Oh, that he does!” Silene laughed. “He’s glowing for that matter, yes. Like he got a very, very good shag. And,” she trailed off playfully, “he looks absolutely knackered. Like he spent all night fucking. It’s made him bright, serious but cheerful and surely… better looking. But he’s good fucking bags so deep under his eyes, I’m sure you kept him up all night long.”

“Jesus! You’re painting quite a picture.” She shook her head in feigned disbelief. “But you truly give me more credit than I’m due. I’ve done nothing. And if he looks sleepy but good… that’s alright for all us. Maybe he’ll keep the sermon short!”

“Fuck,” Silene half-laughed half-sighed. “I hope you’re fucking right. I hate sermons.”

“Yes, everyone does.” A pause. “Tell me about Alicia now. I’ve answered your question.”

“Sort of,” Silene scowled. “But I’ll let it pass. So! She called me yesterday to tell me that Alberto has contacted her asking for legal aid and advice in his case.” Upon seeing Raquel’s opening mouth, Silene raised a hand to silence her. “Shush, she denied him help but couldn’t simply leave it at that, it would’ve been kinda illegal? I think? Everyone is owed legal advice, so she sent him to a friend of hers who promises he won’t be an ass and will do everything to lose—.”

“But we all know men, and we know he won’t try, actively, to lose.”

Silene nodded sadly. “Exactly. Alicia flew to Lisbon today, to meet him, because he’s on some sort of vacation and she’s trying to mediate him, I guess—Holy shit!”

“What?”

“I think Mónica was called for work for  _ this  _ actually!”  _ But she’s not a lawyer, she only works with lawyers and as a business woman she’d have no place there.  _ Seeing Raquel’s perturbed frown, Silene explained, “I know she’s not a lawyer, only works with them or whatever, but think about it. She works for a law firm, right? And in cases like these, her business studies could be helpful.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Silene rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe Alicia asked for her help because Mónica is a pretty face that will convince any prick willing to represent Alberto to simply work badly.”

Despite the sinking feeling settling in her chest both at the thought of this case not being over yet and the idea of Mónica being used like this, she felt like that was exactly something that would happen to her, and to her step-sister-in-law. “And what if it doesn’t work out?”

The younger woman sensed her distress and paused in her tracks, caressing her arm gently. “Then Alicia will do everything in her fucking power to go against him in court."

"But—." 

"Hush. Some of his charges are related to you, of course, and they’ll need you to testify, but Alicia will make sure you’ll be prepared for any questions and help you out.”

Raquel didn’t feel safe in this. “But what if I’m not fully prepared? What if something I say makes him walk free?”

“You won’t. And he won’t walk free. Listen,” she whispered firmly, “even if you don’t trust Alicia, trust me. Or trust Mónica! Or hell, trust Ánibal’s abilities to fucking have found good enough evidence to lock that prick forever!”

“Well...”

“Shut up, don’t say it,” she intervened, then sobered up again as she seemed to recall something. “But you’ll have to... I’m really sorry to say this, I know you’re close… but your friendship with Ágata will have to go, for the time being at least.”

Raquel frowned, the heavy feeling in her heart going deeper and deeper, like an anchor dropped and buried by the sand. “Cause she’s a former convict and is still on parole,” she whispered to no one in particular, but Silene nodded along. “How the fuck do I even tell her that?”

“Well, actually…” Silene trailed off, a hand at the nape of her neck, bashful. “Don’t hate me for this, but I already told her. She’s invited to stay here, for the wedding, of course, but after this you can’t meet her, not until the whole thing’s over.”

The younger woman kept on talking, something about court, and the custody battle, and the legal terms of talking to a criminal who’s still on parole, allowing a former drug dealer around children, one that yet hasn’t completely concluded her sentence unlike Agustín, but Raquel found it hard to concentrate. Her eyes watered slightly and her hands shook, the elated feeling she’d felt just little over half an hour ago having completely abandoned her, replaced by sorrow, regret and anger.

It sunk and sunk into her heart and then rose to her throat, a large lump settling there like a cork. She tried swallowing it down, but it wouldn’t budge.

She wasn’t scared, there was a part of her that did trust Alicia not to fail her, and she did trust all of them, but she was angry, and annoyed, and all she needed was a  _ fucking  _ cigarette, or four.

With that in mind, she excused herself from Silene, invited her to walk back to the party and strode deeper into the labyrinth herself.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


“Oh, fuck!” exclaimed the priest, interrupting whatever thoughts she might’ve been having.

“Oh, oh, God, fuck” she exclaimed back, dropping her unfinished cigarette to the ground thoughtlessly and hugging herself on instinct as though to protect herself from an incoming danger. “You’re here!”

She’d been walking ten or thirty minutes, lost in her thoughts and rather lost in the labyrinth as well, her worries all but perished in the walk, but out of all the people she expected to meet it was certainly not Sergio, a stack of notes in his hands and a suddenly worried look on his face, the bravado gone and perished.

“Fuck! Yes. I thought you were a fox!” he complained loudly, helping her to put out the little fire they both feared to start. “You’re not, though!”

She chuckled. “I’m not.”

“No, you’re not,” he confirmed, laughing nervously, his eyes scanning her dress almost heavily, unable to tear his gaze away for a brief pause until he softly said, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she flushed crimson, flattening the hems of her dress whose color matched her current completion, then looked up at him with a bashful smile. “Are you—? I didn’t know you were—.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine. Sorry. No, I was just—. I didn’t want to— I’m practicing the homily.”

“Oh,” she nodded, “how’s it going?”

“Not good, not good at all. I can’t seem to— I can’t, I can’t…” he breathed heavily, pausing again to stare at her, a soft smile on his lips. He gulped. “You look lovely. Fuck, you look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” her lashes fluttered seductively, “so do you.”

“You haven’t seen me yet in the actual— you’ll see. That’s a banger! You’re gonna lose your mind.”

Raquel couldn’t help but smile at the power she seemed to hold over him. He truly radiated something off him, like a feeling that she couldn’t quite identify, or feared identifying. And he looked bashful, and scared, and at the same time ready to rock everyone’s world, even if anxiety was spiking up again within him.

She wished to close the distance between them, to soothe his anxiety and make him so sure of himself again, but she didn’t trust herself not to jump on his lips and his— again, so she simply flattened the hems of her dress once more and glanced up at him shyly.

He seemed to sense her trail of thoughts as he murmured, quite closer to herself than she thought proper, “We just have to get through today and then we can—then we can…”

Her gaze fixed with his. “Yeah.”

They stared at each other, forgetting the world abound, embarrassed chuckles airing through their throats, both almost entirely unmoving. She daren’t even look down at his lips, she simply stepped back a little and sighed.

He got the hint. “Right, so,” he stammered, “I should get changed.”

“Yeah, you better,” she chuckled softly, avoiding his heavy gaze. “Good luck.”

She stepped back a little more to allow him passage, her back laying upon the soft pillow of leaves and flowers behind her but, as though he'd suddenly received a push from up above, as soon as he walked near her, he turned to her and grabbed her face, bringing her lips up to his in a searing kiss. 

Half-moaning, half-gasping, Raquel was unable to resist the urge to close her eyes, part her lips and return his kiss with proper vigor. No encouragement was needed for her to grab his hair and bring him lower. Her head tilted for better access, a series of feelings surging to her heart and freeing her of all regret as well traveling south to her core.

This was it. She’d never want anything but this. 

With each kiss, they brought each closer and closer, their bodies melting together, no barriers between them but those mental. When they parted, his pants echoing her own, their mouths still as close as ever, it was as though they hadn’t parted at all.

She wanted to remember this, to sear this into her memory – she wasn't sure why, but a part of her sensed that she'd like to keep this memory intact. She opened her eyes, therefore, and stared at him, a soft laughter bubbling out of her throat as she saw the disheveled state he was in.

“Oh my God,” she  _ giggled _ .

“What?”

She stroked his cheek gently, his beard grazing her pads ever so softly. “You have lipstick all over your…”

His eyes widened. “Oh, fucking hell,” he cussed as the hand he’d held her hair with worked on stroking away the lipstick. “That would not be—Is it—is it gone now?”

She laughed, bobbing her head affirmatively. “Yes, yes, almost.” She replaced his hand with her own, forcibly stroking his lips and the surrounding area, slowly, to drag it all out. Her eyes hooked onto his lips and she felt an urge to capture them again, to fuck it all and to leave him with more lipstick than there was on her own lips at all.

His mind seemed to be on the same track. “We can’t,” he murmured, inching closer to her and hovering there painfully. “We can’t,” he repeated, despair heavy in his weak voice, as though he weren’t convincing anyone but himself. “Fuck, I don’t know, I don’t know…” he clutched at his chest, tears watering in his small eyes. “Oh, I don’t know what this feeling is.”

Raquel couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is it God, or is it me?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted despite seeming taken aback by her question. A part of her hoped that it meant he’d intended for it to be her, and another scolded her for putting the doubt of God in his heart, but it was done for. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Trying to make him forget God, she surged forward again, but he stepped back, severing their moment. He began walking away, towards the party, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll…”

She breathed in heavily, nodding. She didn’t want him to go, but there were responsibilities to uphold, things to do. 

A fucking wedding to hold.

Still, as she watched him walk away, the priest confused and still trying to remove nonexistent lipstick, she couldn’t help but echo his own words from just two weeks ago, “Fuck you, then.”

He chuckled, and disappeared into the bushes.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It took smoking another cigarette and a few heavy breaths in which she recalled all the kisses she’d shared with Sergio, a promise of more to come, for Raquel to finally join the party again, a brave face and a smile on her lips. She merged within the crowd, allowed Paula to give her a flower crown and, as she left the girl to her chair, she found a glass of champagne and drank it down.

Soon, the wedding would be done. Despite her initial preoccupations about it, there was nothing else to be done but to enjoy it. She hummed appreciatively, whether she liked the prospects or not.

_ At least the champagne tastes amazing. _

“Where’s y’r pries’?” Laura materialized herself by her side, a matching glass of champagne in her hand and if her slurred speech was any indication, she’d had more than one.

Raquel shrugged. “No idea.” She clinked her glass with her sister's, grinning. “Cheers to this wedding!”

Laura rolled her eyes, watching over the party with a sour light in her gaze. “It’s gonna be an amazing bloody day, innit?”

“I’m afraid so,” the older sister confirmed, pursing her lips tightly as she, too, observed everyone around herself. “Did Daniel finally get the rings?”

Laura nodded. “Unfortunately yes.”

“And no sight of Mónica?”

“The ground has swallowed ‘er ‘ole.” The younger Murillo sister sighed. “Honestly, all is missing is—and there ‘e is!”

Raquel followed her line of sight with a confused smile, brightening at the sight of Sergio in his loose, proper tunic. The cross in the middle had a nice fashion to it, spreading so wide it reached his hands. He looked small in it, despite being as tall as he was.

Oddly enough to say so, he looked  _ snug. _

Raquel was hit by the sudden realization that perhaps, indeed, it was  _ God _ he had felt. He certainly seemed to belong.

“Father!” Laura greeted him with a teasing smile. “Great dress!”

“Love the, the… you know,” Raquel laughed, waving at the cross.

“Thank you. Holy as it is, eh?” Sergio grinned, his gaze locking briefly with hers before he concentrated on everyone else.

Silene whistled. “You didn’t follow the color code!” she teased before adding, “But you’re fully upstaging the bride, so there’s that!”

At her throwaway comment, Raquel realized that in all the commotion of people staring, gaping and admiring the priest, the bride was lacking. Entirely lacking. She found her worries confirmed by Agustín’s terrified, skipping glances that he shot at her and, having had enough of troubles for one day, she took pity on him by standing directly by his side with Laura, Julia and Silene dragged without any explanation.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Agustín sighed heavily, spreading his arms in lieu of defeat. If his wrinkled forehead and his pouting lips were any indication, he was in proper hot water and he had no idea how to exit it. “Please, help me find her, girls.”

“Of course,” Silene said, laying a warm hand on his shoulder. “Of course, uncle.”

The old man exhaled deeply. “Will you find her?”

“Yes,” Laura, suddenly sobered up, and Julia simultaneously confirmed.

“Please,” he begged again as though he couldn’t hear them at all.

Raquel nodded, and somehow it was all the confirmation he had needed from the start. She didn’t like the responsibility given to her, but she couldn’t deny how important it made her feel.

“Garden, with me,” Laura nodded at Julia who instantly ran away with her.

“Go upstairs,” Silene said to Raquel.

“You check the parking lot,” said the older woman, and they made to part but as Raquel turned around to check the house, Agustín grabbed her wrist and forced her to glance at him, a puzzled look upon her features. “What?”

"You've had reservations about this wedding, Raquel, I know, but…" 

"No!" she tried to deny but there was no use for it. 

“No," he shook his head. "Listen, I, I know…” the man stammered, “I know you don’t—not exactly—and there’s been times when I fully thought that you would—but I want you to know, from the bottom of my,” he tapped at his belly then weakly corrected himself by going up to his chest, “of my  _ heart _ , that although recent—I truly love your mother and I know—current events may not indicate it but… I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

Raquel knew not what to say lest she harmed his already weak spirits so she rose slightly to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek instead, nodding solemnly. 

It was a promise, a promise both of them understood and words would only make it heavier to seal. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


As big as the house was, each room mingling with the other once you stepped further than the first set of stairs, Raquel felt like in a video game in which the specific room she was to enter was properly illuminated by an almost Holy light, specks of dust fluttering about in the white light shining through a crack.

The attic. Or what preceded it, in reality.

The  _ real _ attic could be accessed only through a dangling set of stairs which had currently been set loose promising at least some  _ intended _ presence up the real attic.

Raquel held her breath, releasing it only when she heard an undignified grunt coming from upstairs. 

“Mami?” she asked.

“Raquel?” came her mother’s muffled, confused voice. “Darling, is that you?”

Raquel sighed, climbing up the dangling steps. The old wood scratched beneath her palm but she ignored the sting it produced, smiling widely at her terrified mother to offer her comfort. “Hi, mom. What are you doing up here?”

The light was weaker here, the cracks that might allow some light in rather smaller than below, and she couldn’t make out her mother’s expression in the shade. 

“I’m stuck,” the old woman admitted.

“What?”

“I can’t get out,” Mariví explained. 

“No, you can” she assured her, a weight lifting off her chest unexpectedly. “You can!”

“No, I can’t,” Marivi whimpered, “It’s a trap.”

“It’s not a trap, mami, honestly!” she exclaimed, realizing only now that, perhaps, the wedding  _ could  _ be off. Her mother felt like it was a trap! Oh, thank the Heavens! “You’re not stuck, mother. Just give everyone a bottle of champagne and they will all understand, if you just…”

“What?” Mariví questioned in a soft voice. “No, I’m—I mean, my foot, it got stuck in a mouse trap that I’m pretty sure your father set up years ago.”

“Oh!” Raquel closed their distance, frowning at the hole her mother had managed to get herself stuck in, the weight flopping back down. She blinked repeatedly, fluttering her lashes at the comical sight. “Wow.”

“Everyone will understand?”

Raquel opened her mouth to make out an excuse, then closed it back again and chose a different direction, focusing on her mother’s stuck foot. “How?” she shook her head and before her mother could think of answering, she chuckled, “No, no, why were you here to begin with?”

Mariví whimpered, wriggling in the hole painfully. “I was…” she trailed off, staring into the distance emptily. When it didn’t seem like she would say anything more, Raquel clicked her fingers at her.

“You were?”

“Of course!” Mariví smiled brightly, her small eyes holding onto Raquel’s face as though she were admiring a beautiful ornament. “I admit, darling, I forgot why I was here. I think…” she looked at her surroundings in an almost painful attempt to recall, her eyebrows furrowed together tightly in thought, “The thing is, darling, I—there’s memories here, but they seem to escape me even now.”

Raquel’s heart couldn’t stand it anymore. She squeezed her mother’s hand before bringing it up to her lips. “Mami,” she whispered in earnest, “I know you’re dead set on this wedding, but can you  _ truly  _ handle it? I love you, and I want the best for you, and Agustín, but… Can you handle marital life again?”

The old woman heaved a shaky sigh. “Of course I can, dear,” she promised. “I was just here because...”

“You were nostalgic.”

She nodded. “There’s memories here, of your father. I love Agustín, and I don’t think getting remarried classifies as betrayal of any sort,” she admitted, “but I think I recall now why I was here.” In the hand that Raquel hadn’t grabbed indeed there seemed to be an object. She brought it up to reveal a small pendant with a red rock in its middle. “Your father gave it to me, and I suddenly felt like I had to find it.”

“Mami…” Raquel wasn’t sure how to voice her thoughts. “Mami,” she repeated, struggling to fight back her tears. “Why would you have such a sudden urge during your wedding?”

“Well—.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

Mariví widened her eyes, startled. “What? God, no!” she shook her head. “No, dear, I just... as absurd as it sounds, darling, getting remarried feels like setting a new sort of… sort of wall between you and your daughters and you, Raquel, you have always been my favorite—.”

“You’re lucky Laura can’t hear you.”

“Laura is a silly girl,” the old woman scoffed. “I love her, but she’s silly. As am I. But you have so much of your father in you. You weren’t always his girl, as it often is for alike individuals, but he always thought you were smarter. So smart. Smarter than him. Of course, he never approved of your wedding to Alberto, but you must see now that he hadn’t been wrong. I’ve always felt some regret that he could never see you happy again. But now,” Mariví paused, “now you’re here, you’re beautiful, and you’re strong. And I’m getting remarried. A new wall shall rise between us, as it did when you got your first period, or kissed your first girl, then boy. So many walls.”

“No, mom—.”

“Shush,” she said. “I love you, but there’s so many walls. And I just… I wanted you to have this. This memoir of me, and of your father. To remind you that even if I am to be married again, there’s no need for a new wall.”

Raquel nodded, struggling hard to contain the tears in her eyes. “Of course, mami, of course. No new walls,” she confirmed, wetly kissing her mother’s hand to seal her promise.

Yet another. Were there more to seal?

“Now,” Mariví laughed, “please get me out of this.”

Raquel started, a curious look upon her features. “The wedding? I thought—.”

Mariví slapped her hand, feigning anger in her mocking glare. “Don’t look so hopeful at the prospect! I meant the hole. Get me out of it so I can get married and get out of your hair!”

“Of course,” the daughter chuckled airily to herself, realizing only after she set her mother's foot free that she didn't feel heavy about the wedding anymore. 

It was alright. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


With her mother clinging to her arm like a sloth, Raquel was welcomed back into the party like a vision only a wing short of an angel. A Messiah bringing about the word of the Lord.

Agustín smiled at her, Silene heaved a cheerful sigh, Sergio offered her an encouraging chuckle, Paula cheered at her grandmother joined by Cincinnati’s small but proud voice, and Daniel nearly leapt to his feet to welcome back Mariví to apologize for having forgotten the wedding bands earlier and to promise her he now had them.

In all the commotion, Mariví wouldn’t allow her to step away. 

“Stay with me,” she whispered, forcing Raquel to walk her mother down the aisle as though she were the father helping out his young daughter. Given the state of many things, she couldn’t say the role was entirely wrong.

At the end of the flower-clad corridor that Paula and Silene must have organized in their free time, with Agustín and the priest stood before them, Mariví finally made to drop her hands from Raquel’s. However, as Raquel tried to walk away, she was held back by a strong grip holding her still, unyielding.

“Darling,” Agustín effectively severed their hands, allowing Raquel to finally find herself a seat. 

It wasn't easy. Because of her late arrival, most of the seats were taken, everyone chatting each other up happily and the only seat she found empty was behind Daniel, Laura, the two kids and some strangers, sandwiched between none else but Silene and… Ágata. 

_ Well, fuck me _ , she thought, flopping down awkwardly on the empty seat. 

_ This can go only two ways _ , she informed, glancing at the younger woman with an embarrassed smile that promised neither good outcomes nor bad ones.  _ Either she'll greet me and say nothing about the matter, too proud or too scared to mention, or jump right into the subject without a greeting to get it over with.  _

Sergio’s proud voice booming saved her from saying anything as he began, “Good morning everyone – or noon, I suppose. Thank you for coming,"  _ Coming, _ Raquel quirked an eyebrow.  _ Coming indeed,  _ “here to celebrate the love between these two lovely people. Before we start, however, I was asked by Ánibal and Miguel to allow them to play some music?”

Silene’s young boyfriend, cheered on by the much older woman, and the young kid from before, Miguel, nodded brightly and pushed a button on their stereo, promptly engulfing the area in a low, somber music which appeared to give everyone a new conversation starter.

Ágata included.

"I promise I'll stay out of the photos," said the young woman without any further notice. 

Raquel widened her eyes. “No, you don’t—.”

"I will. I don’t want to cause you any trouble. And,” she sighed, lacing her fingers with Raquel’s, “I swear I don't hold it out against you at all. If you were a parolee and talking to you would make me lose my chance of getting back my son, I’m not sure what I would do, but I know my son would be my priority.”

“We could still meet in secret, where cameras couldn’t…” she trailed off, realizing it wouldn’t work. 

“There’s always chances of getting caught,” Ágata pointed out sadly, “and I wouldn’t want to be the reason that prick gets a lesser sentence and gets custody of your daughter as soon as he’s out.” Raquel opened her mouth to protest again, feably, but Ágata shook her head. “I’d never forgive myself for it, and I know you wouldn’t either if you were in my place.”

That much was true. 

She briefly considered the other ramifications of her relationship with Ágata, the issues that spread over to Sergio housing her, and another parolee, and what it might complicate in  _ their _ blossoming relationship, in what the future promised for them in such a situation – and she would have worried more than she did at present hadn’t Daniel chosen that particular moment to turn around, eyes wide, lip worried between his teeth, and whisper, “I can’t do it.”

The three women frowned. “Can’t do what?”

“Father asked me to do a reading for him cause I’m the most important of the best men.” He paused comically, laughing his signature laugh as he realized he was the  _ best man _ indeed. “But I can’t do it.”

Raquel nodded, the way his thoughts were headed appearing clear in her mind. “Of course, you must go, take Cincinnati with you and get Mónica, you can’t just sit around here!”

“What?” he shook his head. “No, I can’t just—no, I simply meant… I mean—.”

“You must!” Ágata, of the same mind as Raquel in these matters and a sentimental at heart, insisted.

Laura, ever the pessimist, turned around as well and chuckled bitterly. “No, he’s right. He can’t just go and get her.”

Silene seemed to take offence in their refusal as well. “Why not?”

“I can’t leave my father’s wedding!” Daniel pointed out, smoothing his tie in embarrassment. “It’s Mónica, she must come back, I’m sure. Cincinnati is here, for God’s sake, she wouldn’t just... And besides, she’s already there.”

“Well,” Raquel said, offering him a soft smile, “there you go. There’s your perfect opportunity. Is it ‘picking her up from another country’ kind of love?”

“Well, of course—.”

Laura scoffed. “No, he can’t just do that. She’d think he’s a prick who can’t respect her wishes.”

It was Raquel’s turn to scoff. “She’d think him romantic. I’m just saying, if he...”

“I would—.”

_ “Another country, _ Raquel,” Laura continued undisturbed, “how would he even know where she is exactly?”

“I wasn’t suggesting—.”

“And Ánibal could—.”

“And he’d have to book a ticket, or two, fly all the way to Lisbon, find himself a hotel or find her own. He’d have to find her specific street, then, and her hotel, and her hotel room  _ number,  _ call that hotel, book himself a room  _ or  _ explain that he’s the love-struck husband, all without knowing if she’ll even accept him with open arms. Imagine if he did that. Imagine if she knew he did  _ all _ that.”

Silene shrugged. “I agree with Raquel, she’d find that pretty—.”

“Imagine she was in Lisbon, chilling in her hotel room after a hard day at work, in her hot tub or reading a book and suddenly he was at the door, Cincinnati holding his hand, the lights already all out because by the time he arrives it’s deep in the night, saying ‘Hello, Mónica’.”

“That would be pretty chilling,” Raquel quipped, the sarcasm flying above Laura’s head, and she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps, by the look of Daniel’s face, Laura’s tirade of words hadn’t had an opposite effect to the one she’d planned for.

It was all, however, pushed back a little by Ánibal and Miguel’s song coming completely to an end, everyone but them clapping for the youthful men joyfully. 

“Thank you, Ánibal and Miguel, for this beautiful piece,” Sergio said with a weak smile, his eyes all on the couple. “I think what you guys are doing is amazing, so… whew,” he clutched his chest, chuckling, “Fuck me!” Laughter erupted in the open space, some shocked, others appreciating. “Sorry,” he amended, laughing nervously, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

A set of eyes fixed on Raquel, accusing. She averted their gazes, shuffling in her seat embarrassedly.

It  _ was _ her fault after all.

“So, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s not much to say about love that could be original at all,” he said, fixing his gaze with Raquel’s, “but I’ve had a go.” 

He paused, allowing the words to sink in. It felt like he was going to speak directly to Raquel and the woman couldn’t help the surge of fear that spiked in her chest. There was something entirely foreign about the idea of someone dedicating an entire speech to her, even after having had her own go at weddings. 

This felt much, much more personal.

“Love is awful,” he admitted, sinking her heart as though it were a duck standing freely, ready to be hit by a stone. “It’s awful, really. It’s painful. It’s frightening! Makes you  _ doubt _ yourself,  _ judge _ yourself. Distance yourself from the other people in your life.” Raquel couldn’t refute that, a living proof of that sitting just in the aisle before her. “Makes you selfish! Makes you creepy! Makes you obsess over your looks! Makes you cruel! Makes you do things you never thought you would say or do!”

Silene whistled to herself, leaning over to Raquel with a half-smile. “I think you’ve destroyed your priest.”

“All of us want love, and yet when we get there – it’s Hell! So,” he paused for a deep intake of breath, smiling suddenly, “it’s no wonder none of us want to do on our own. You know,” he raised a hand, “I was taught, if we’re born with love, all of us, then life is about finding the right place where to put it. 

“You know, people talk about how when it’s right, it feels easy, but I’m not sure that’s true at all. It takes a lot of strength to know what’s right.”

His gaze once again found hers, sad and deep. It was like a letter he spoke aloud with everyone to listen, but only she could understand the true meaning. She sighed, fighting the urge to avert his gaze. If he spoke to her, she would make sure she knew it was for her, after all.

“Love,” he said firmly, “isn’t something weak people do. Being a romantic, takes a hell of a lot of hope. So, I think what they truly mean is… when you find someone that you truly love,” he blinked and concluded with a deep sigh, “it feels a lot like hope.”

Soon as it appeared to be over, Raquel couldn’t help but tap on Daniel’s shoulder, to give him, if not herself, some hope. “Go out the sideway.” He widened his eyes, gulping thickly, but he nodded, succumbing to her wishes as though they were his own – and they were, at least once. “Now.”

Silene grinned. “Ánibal will locate Mónica for you.”

“And I can keep Cincinnati with me,” Laura offered.

“No, I’ll take him with me. Just…”

“I’ll book you the soonest flight,” Silene said. 

“Thank you, I’ll owe you one.

As he stood up, Cincinnati trailing behind him, Sergio started up again in a solemn voice, “Thank you for bringing us all here today,” he said, “and take these words from the book of love: be strong and take heart, all ye who hope in the Lord.”

Raquel held her breath.

“Now let’s get to the most important bit.”

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


The wedding passed unceremoniously.

Given Daniel’s disappearance, Silene took it upon herself to read out his speech, or whatever she changed it into, as it was highly unlikely the rebellious woman would ever keep anything as it is. Lunch then passed happily with cheerful chatter and people only complaining about the exaggerated amount of sunlight that streamed through the windows and the lack of A/C in the room – it was like a pig farm with everyone sweating and boiling into rare meat.

Then the party came, in all its fervor. Music roared loudly, Agustín begged Laura for a dance, Mariví danced with the priest with a smile so big it was as though he’d given her the brightest of gifts and, if his terrified face was any indication, it was clear he hadn’t accounted for dancing nor did he care for it all. Still, he performed kindly, albeit badly, his arms flapping around awkwardly and his legs struggling to feel the rhythm.

Gifts were opened afterwards, amongst cheers and awe. Everyone wanted to be first and, somehow, also last. It was a competition of who would receive the biggest thanks. Those who gifted simple things hid to the side, behind large glasses and muttered apologies.

The biggest gift, it seemed, was Julia gifting them a trip to Palawan, an island all off in the Philippines, where they’d stay in a resort for about a month and could enjoy all the best treatment along with pre-programmed trips all over the island that they could deny, if they wished. It was a full experience and no one, it seemed, could top that.

Although, to be fair, no one really wanted to top it. 

No one had the money, after all.

After that, there was not much to do but to retire the youngest member, Paula, into the spare bedroom – she begged grandma to let her stay the night and who was the old woman to deny her granddaughter such a sweet request? – and begin drinking in full; drinks, cocktails and even pure alcohol was shared between members of the party and only those who were meant to drive kept their heads level, or tried.

And failed.

By 9.30pm, almost everyone was wasted except, perhaps, Raquel who had eaten and drank enough for the alcohol not to get into her head too much, and the priest, who only drank his wine and refused to be convinced into more.

Darkness embraced them all slowly but surely and by that time only the neon lights Ánibal and Miguel had set up illuminated their knackered faces. Luckily, it was time for those most estranged to leave and another half hour in, mostly everyone had left, the patio almost entirely emptied out.

The eerie, repetitive music lulled some of the members to sleep, only the loud drilling of a ringing phone cutting through it, intercepted by Silene’s low, drunk voice. Though Raquel, and those that remained, was curious to find out what it was about, she found that it was better to allow Silene to hear it all out before inquiring.

Her curiosity was satisfied soon as Silene spread her arms in her the air, threw her phone away for no particular reason except that she was so battered it mattered little if it was near her or splattered and broken on the sidewalk, and exclaimed with all the excitement of alcohol mixed with that of matchmaking, “Daniel an' Mónica made up and are stay’n for the ‘olidays together in L’sbon! Two weeks, baby!”

She made a pause, then, during which everyone presumed her to have fallen asleep while standing, but then she turned to Raquel and shouted, 

"Oi, by the by, Raquel! Mónica's convinc'd tha' lawyer guy to 'elp you ou', no' 'elp Al'erro and be ni—." 

Her eyes rolling backwards in exhaustion for having exerted herself so in one breath, she dropped flat on the grass and didn’t get up.

No one was in the right mind to pick her up.

As elated as she was for the news and worried about her friend, Raquel took that as a clue to congratulate herself, the priest and the newlyweds, for the beautiful party, so she joined them, bag already in her hand, and smiled. “This was beautiful, and I’m too, uh, knackered to drive so I’ll have to catch a bus, and I better not miss it, shall I?”

Mariví stroked her cheek lovingly. “Of course, my love. Paula will sleep here, yes?”

“Yes, thank you. This was a beautiful wedding. I’m very, very happy for you.” To Sergio, she added, “And you did a splendid job, too.”

Sergio grinned bashfully. “Thank you. I did my best. Liked my speech?”

“Most appreciated.” She sighed and paused to kiss her mother, then her step-father, on the cheek. “Goodnight, mom. Goodnight, father.” With a half-smile, she said to Sergio, too, “Goodnight, Father.”

A genuine laughter bubbled out of the priest’s throat. “Ah, I’ll be catching a bus, too. But I must remove my tunic, first. Wait for me?”

Anticipation in her throat, sat under the black of the night, the chill breeze of the evening caressing her bare shoulders, she waited for him indeed. The lamppost barely gave her enough light to read out the bus schedule, but she knew it mattered little what time it indicated – it would always surprise the waiting pedestrian, either positively or negatively, and it was all up to Fate which type of day it was.

For the sake of catching as much time as she could with Sergio, she debated whether she’d like one or the other. On the one hand, if the bus arrived early, they could head in the same specific direction, to her house, or his house. And if it arrived late…

She shook her head. 

There was no use pondering about things until she was face to face with them.

“When’s our bus, then?”

Speak of the devil.

Raquel exhaled, squinting at the sign again – it appeared that in his presence her mind blanked, the thought of which prompted a stupid grin to appear on her lips. “It says it’ll arrive in about… whew, half an hour.”

Sergio pushed his glasses up his nose. “In that case,” he seated himself next to her, leaving no space to the imagination with his thighs firmly pressed against hers. He flashed her a bashful grin, “My father used to work as a bus driver, did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” Raquel shook her head. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned that, no.”

He hummed. “Well, as the son of a late bus driver, I can assure you the bus will arrive much sooner than the sign says. They like giving way to the imagination, and then the bus magically arrives. You know how it is.”

She chuckled. “I sure hope you’re right. It’s quite chilling out here.”

His small eyes glimpsed at her bare shoulders with a sad air to them. “Shit,” he lamented, “I don’t have a coat to offer you. Or I would have, because… but—would you like a priest’s tunic?”

“No,” she feigned a serious tone, “I’m afraid not.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, looking down at his crossed hands, his gaze not once having actually fully locked with hers. The realization unsettled her, but she chuckled it off. “Yeah. I never realized how much Agustín and Mariví seemed to  _ love _ each other until today and… it warms my heart, really.”

“Yeah.”

“Was your… is it  _ step-cousin?” _

“I suppose so?”

“Was he okay?”

Raquel nodded, chuckling at the memory of Daniel running with Cincinnati struggling to keep up and nearly tripping. “Yeah, no, he just had a… wife to pick up.”

“Crap, of course. Why was she not there?”

Raquel didn’t have the heart, nor the energy, to explain it all, so she jokingly summarized it with, “A work thing.”

“Work thing?” Sergio nodded in appreciation, still looking down. “She must be very dedicated, then.”

“Properly addicted,” she snorted.

Under the heavy weight of her stare, Sergio finally looked up and locked his gaze with hers, a sad smile stretching upon his small lips. She daren’t look down, simply smiling back as tears watered in her eyes, matching his. They stilled, simply gazing into each other’s eyes as thoughts and realizations finally were sucked out of the whirlwind of hope and drained into something more concrete, something they both understood.

“It’s God, isn’t it?” she voiced her sorrow.

He nodded. “Sort of, yes,” he admitted. “It’s my  _ duty  _ to the people of God, you amongst them.”

“And your brother,” she noticed, “and Ágata, and the baby that she needs to get back as soon as her parole ends. Because you’re the only one who can help her now that Martín is gone.”

Sergio chuckled. “I really didn’t think it through when I sent him away.”

“You did what was right.”

“Yeah. And now I must, too,” he whispered, smiling sadly.

A pause stretched again between them, as Raquel let the words sink in. Hard as she may try for them  _ not to sink _ in, not to be true, not when another feeling settled in her heart, too, and she knew it would be slower to go away.

“Damn,” she complained, bitterly laughing at Fate throwing not a bus and a good shag at her, but this. She shook her head. “Damn.” Gulping, she looked to him, to search for a mirror of her own concerns and feelings, and in his eyes she saw herself reflected. She took the chance and said, “You know the worst thing is, Sergio,” because she had to use his name, she couldn’t let the chance slide, “that I fucking love you.”

Under his pleading gaze, she repeated, “I love you.” When he opened his mouth, she shushed him. “No, no, let’s just leave that out there… let’s—let it sink in, for a second. I know I’ve known you for a short time, but you’ve made me feel so much more than I could have ever hoped to feel.”

“Listen, Raquel, I’m sorry that—.”

“No,” she raised her hand, “don’t say it was a challenge because we’re both past the point of pretending that anything we’ve done the past two weeks was just me trying to get a good shag, shall we?” He had no words to say, so he kept silent. She chuckled and held his gaze in hers as earnestly as she could, “I love you.”

Sighing, he looked down as his fingers laced with hers on his lap. Then, he looked up into her eyes and with all the feeling that she thought him capable of having, he whispered, “It’ll pass.”

Raquel found herself suddenly drawn to their conjoined hands. She knew he was right, of course, all feelings pass, no feeling is final, but as she watched how well her hand fit into his she couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t wrong, perhaps biased in his opinion.

After all, if it wasn’t exactly God holding him back, couldn’t it work?

“Perhaps it doesn’t have to pass,” she mustered the courage to say. “Do we have to part forever?”

“Raquel…” he trailed off, breathing in deeply. “Raquel, we do. We couldn’t even go to the cinema together, or hold hands in the streets—.”

“I don’t care about that!”

“We couldn’t tell your family—.”

Raquel scoffed. “What do they need to know? Their noses are already far too deep into my business.”

“Your  _ daughter _ couldn’t even know.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he shushed her. “No. And don’t bring up me leaving the Church, because I can’t do it. Certainly not now.”

He was right, of course. How foolish of her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but try and poke at him with a sad smile. “How about in a month?”

Sergio shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “Not in a month.”

“Four months?”

“No, not in four months either.”

She feigned a resolute sigh. “In a year, then?”

Sergio laughed at the absurdity of her request and nodded, squeezing her hand in earnest. “In a year, alright.”

A tear dropped down her cheek at that, inspiring a perverse part of her that wished him to know the pain he was causing her and she made to clean it away, but he beat her to it, his thumb wiping at it in a manner so soft and contrasting to the roughness of his pad. “I’ll hold you to it,” she whimpered, nuzzling at his thumb in search for more, but he immediately dropped it back.

“Do.”

“It’s a promise, then?” she asked feigning mirth. If there was ever a moment in which she could be less inspired to be funny, it was this, and yet it seemed her mouth had a life of its own.

“A promise.”

They let the silence envelope them again, the crickets being their only companions. No cars passed, and there was certainly no sight of the bus.

“I think my prophecy was wrong. No bus is magically appearing.”

Raquel nodded, pursing her lips to stop the other tears from streaming down. “Yeah,” she managed to choke out.

“I’ll walk, then,” he stood up, his hand parting from hers almost painfully, the heat she’d felt suddenly sizzling away. “See you on Sunday?” He didn’t even wait for her response before rushing to say, “No, please, don’t. I mean it, as I’ve already said before, with the deepest of compliments… never come there again. Never again.”

She nodded amongst the pain and the lump seizing her throat. It was impossible for her to talk by now, so she simply looked at him earnestly and hoped he could read her mind.

“I love you, too, you know?” he whispered, the first of his tears streaming down his cheek as well. And with that, he left into the darkness.

With him nearly out of earshot, she allowed herself to sob, hands on her face, tears flowing one after the other, blurring her vision and effectively ruining the perfect make up she’d managed to keep on all day long. It was absurd, of course, that amongst such pain she’d think of that, but her priorities had never been straight. 

This was it. It was over. Why was it over? 

She hadn't had a fair share of happiness, why did it need to disappear? 

Of course, she understood  _ why _ and understood that it never could've worked out, and would've caused more pain than was worth it, but she trembled at the thought of it being gone, perhaps forever _.  _

Shaky as she felt, she realized, however, that the bus wouldn’t come and she’d have to walk home, so she stood up.

The sight of a fox strolling through the street caught her off guard and she chuckled despite it all.

“He went that way,” she told it, although she herself daren’t look his way in fear of, like Orpheus, losing her Eurydice.

Like Orpheus, after all, she couldn't look back. If she looked back, it was all over, forever, and she’d like to keep his teasing promise dear in her heart. 

His words replayed in her mind. About the love that would pass. 

He loved her too, but it would pass. 

Except, Raquel knew, she didn't want it to pass. She really, truly, fucking didn’t want it to pass.

She turned around, hope surging. 

But there was not much to hope for.

She smiled nonetheless, at its ending, and the mocking promise she could still hold in her heart at present. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *


End file.
